#she is hanging on to this wedding by her FINGERTIPS

[buddyhollyscurls]

Funny to me that Marcela/Marcia literally says you're not the same man I fell in love with... but then when Armand/Fern ADMITS that he's not that same man but turns it around on her to be like I'm still willing to get married... are you willing to get married to a stranger that's when she's like I am in love with the man I have in front of me

Girl at certain points u end up even gaslighting yourself

[kasagia]

Flesh and blood

Pairing: Halbrand x fem!elf! reader Summary: Centuries of running away, fighting with what is right and what you should do, have left their mark on you. In time, you begin to realise that the war between good and evil, light and darkness, will never end. And you are tired of all of it. Especially since HE never leaves you alone. Not even for a short moment. Not even when you're about to marry someone else. A bit of a sequel to Skin and Bones, but can be read on its own! It took me longer than I thought, but I kind of like the way it went. I hope you will like it! 🤭🥰 Inspired by: David Kushner - "Flesh x Blood" Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"I don't remember the last time you prayed to the Valar." Galadriel sneaks up to you silently. You close your eyes and breathe in the sweet air of Lothlórien.

You were looking for a quiet place where you could calm down and clear your mind of everything that had been bothering you in recent days. And quite a bit had piled up. And not just because it was your "wedding week.".

"That was… ages ago." You reply thoughtfully and stroke the ring hanging around your neck with your fingertip. A ring forged by Halbrand.

"He won't come here. I will make sure of it. He's too afraid of failure. We have many more allies now. You can be safe for yourself and your fiancé." Galadriel assures you with burning fervour and takes your hand that you hold on your lap. You smile, glad that something of her fire still remains—despite the centuries you have fought for yourselves and your people.

"It's not me I'm worried about. Nor Thranduil. You know… you know how Sauron is. He'll do exactly what we least expect. And I can't let him surprise me again." You say, standing up and taking away your hand from her grip. You walk closer to the willow with white leaves and rest your hand on its trunk.

You try desperately to cling with your soul to the power that lies dormant in it—the light that is both a part of you and Garadiel. But as usual, you don't feel the pleasant tingling in your body. You feel the power flowing through you, but... it's not as addictive as the darkness that he tried to pour into you so many times.

The silence after your words is oppressive, to say the least.

"Do you still have these dreams?"Galadriel's soft whisper makes you shiver a little. You wonder if she can feel it in you—the way the light the Valar gave you beats against the darkness that sang to you the most tempting ballads and promises.

"Less often. I guess he's too busy to bother me. Or maybe he's already bored with me? That would be convenient turn of events." You reply and finally turn to fully face her. A small smile appears on your face, but by the way she narrows her eyes at you, you can tell she's seen through at least some of your lies.

"But do you want it? For him to... leave you at peace?"

"There is no peace for me, Galadriel. Neither for you. We both know that." You try to avoid responding to her question and are about to walk away from her, but in the distance you see the silhouette of a very familiar prince of Mirkwood. “Forgive me.” You say, using that perfect excuse, and head towards your fiancé.

Guilt hits you every time you see a smile on Thranduil's face. Not just any polite, mocking, or trained smile that you get used to seeing. He seemed to have his special one—the one reserved just for your eyes to see.

You don't know exactly how you've charmed the Elven Prince, but you didn't go into too much detail. This alliance would be good for the elves. It would unite you in the fight against the one who held the torn remains of your heart in his claws.

Although... you couldn't say you didn't hope that the passionate feelings the platinum-haired prince had for you would be returned from your side someday. Maybe in time you'd learn to love him as he loved you.

"My lady." He greets you and reaches for your hand. He places a kiss on the top of it with full reverence, not to tease you as HE used to do.

"Elf." Halbrand's raspy voice rings out behind you as you and Galadriel discuss something. You're celebrating a battle won against your enemies, the night dark, the area lit only by the light from the campfires and torches. You blush as you meet the intense gaze of his stormy eyes, and you blame the alcohol you've just consumed for that, not the effect this special mortal has on you. "May I?"

Too focused on his muscular, exposed shoulders, you almost don't notice him nod toward the elves dancing around the fire. Before you can respond, Galadriel takes the wooden tankard from your hand and practically shoves it into Halbrand's arms. She would do anything to bribe him into ruling the Southlands and becoming her ally now. She would even go so far as to push you into his bed if it would change his mind.

You hold your breath, your heart beating a little faster as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it. Your skin tingles as his lips caress you, his stubble teasing, just like the way his blue eyes scrutinise your reaction.

He pulls away, giving you a mischievous, mysterious smile and holding you to his chest, joining the other couples around the fire and spinning around in his arms like nothing else in the world matters. Ironically, a mortal makes you feel more eternal than any elf, dwarf, or man you’ve ever met.

You shake your head at the memory, and when Thranduil's eyes find your face again, you give him one of your smiles. One that he unfortunately can't recognise as a mask. One that Halbrand would see through in a blink of an eye.

"You were not at the war council today." He notices and nods toward the gardens. You begin to walk at a leisurely pace as you consider how to respond to his observation.

"I did not feel too… focused to participate in it today. I hope you didn't miss me too much?" You tease him, hoping he'll ignore the slight note of concern in your voice.

You wanted your complicated realtion with... Sauron to remain a secret from him. He didn't need to know about things that were long in the past… or your fears that the past wasn't as far away as you'd like it to be.

"I actually did." His comment catches you off guard a little. You stop when he reaches into your hair and tucks a sundrop lily behind your ear. It's a sweet gesture. Really. And you feel warmer and nicer inside… but your heart doesn't flutter in your chest like it would if HE did it. "I heard these are your favorites?"

You nod with a smile, not daring to tell him that your favorites are the red-white Carnations. And not because Halbrand gave them to you the other century...

"They are." You whisper hoarsely, a smile plastered on your face and you look away at the flowers growing around you.

He doesn't let you look away for long though. He gently takes your chin in both his fingers and tilts your head, forcing you to look at him.

There was a delicacy, a grace in everything Thranduil did. He was the epitome of an ideal elf, in whom it was easy to see the roots of a great family. And you would have fallen for him, indeed, had you not tasted the seawater of darkness on your chapped lips all those centuries ago.

"What's on your mind?" He whispers, staring at you intently, searching for an answer to your strange behavior.

There are a lot of things stuck in your mind… and none of them should be there.

Because how could you tell him that your mind wasn't occupied by him—just as it should be—but... by Halbrand? How can you tell him that you spend countless nights wondering about what could've been, turning the silver betrothal ring that Thranduil gave you on your finger and fantasising that its metal was black, made of the same as Sauron's crown?

"Many things. Wedding. War. Orcs... Sauron." You confess partly the truth, keeping your gaze fixed not on his eyes and face but on the garden behind him. "I… I'm worried about what's going to happen." You admit mysteriously, without betraying, that you are truly afraid of being bound to him.

You are too scared to admit that the dark corners of your heart are dying with longing for the one you should never have desired. That part of you wishes that your groom carried far less light within him.

"I promise you, he won't ever touch you again. I will protect you. With my kingdom, army and life." All you can give him in return for such a racy declaration is a faint smile that you hope actually looks more convincing than it feels.

"I know. But I hope you will never have to, Thranduil." You add, completely honestly, for the first time, and on instinct you lean in and snuggle up to the elf.

He seems at least surprised that you seek comfort from him, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and places a hand on your head, gently running his hand through your hair as he lets you hide in his embrace for a moment.

And it feels good. Really.

But not as good as hugs from HIM.

"Galadriel said that I would find you here." Halbrand's voice interrupts your prayer to the Valar. You turn on the bench and look at the mortal. He slowly walks over to you and sits down next to you, staring at the holy oak before you. "Blaming yourself for their deaths won't get you anywhere. They're soldiers. They take into account the possibility of being killed when they go to war."

"Every life is worth mourning, Halbrand." He snorts at that, as if he doesn't believe the sincerity of your words. He turns his gaze to you, but you don't want to look back at him. You're afraid he'll see the tears in your eyes.

"Possible. But praying to the Valar will not bring them back to life." You jump up from the bench as if burned, to which he gives you a confused look.

"What are you trying to do? What do you want to tell me?! That stupid, eternal elf shouldn't shed tears over a life taken for no reason? That I shouldn't sit in a corner and cry like a child while people die around me? I know it! I know it perfectly well, mortal!" Your voice breaks slightly and you can no longer stop yourself from crying silently.

He freezes. For the first time, he sees your outburst. You're usually a composed oasis of composure, but now... after you saw him at the edge of death... Halbrand starts to connect the dots. He walks over to you and firmly, quickly closes you in his arms. You try to pull away, but he doesn't let go.

He actually doesn't want to let you go.

He had many names; he had taken many forms, but in none of them did he feel... peace. Holding you in his arms while you were crying into his chest, seeking comfort from him, as your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinching to him tight as if for dear life... he felt peace. He felt some strange kind of relief caused by the fact that you cared about him much enough to mourn his potential death.

You cried into his chest because you were afraid he would die, that he would leave. Sauron tries to remember the last time someone cared so much for him. He can't remember. Or he doesn't want to remember anything but this.

And he took selfish pleasure in the knowledge that his leaving would have devastated you.

You let yourself cry into him, pour out all the emotions that have been weighing on you since you saw him bleeding on the healers' bed, and you shiver in his arms as a cool gust of wind somehow hits your skin and breaks through the safe cage of his warm embrace.

"No Valar has ever answered my prayers. None has ever looked after me like you are... thank you, Y/N." He whispers into your hair and presses a kiss to your forehead.

He feels a strange pang in his heart as his lips touch the surface of your silky skin. You still tremble in his grip, but he holds you impossibly tight, refusing to let any force separate you. It's a strange feeling. One he's not used to. One that seems addictive - much like your sweet scent, which he hopes will linger on him so he can appreciate it longer.

This moment between you is... intimate. Not just because he holds you close to his chest, whispers sweet things into your ear, and plants kisses that colour your cheeks the same scarlet as your dress. It's because he uses your name for the first time. And it's to comfort you. A mortal. A blacksmith. A simple man... for whom you've fallen so quickly it's pathetic.

When you finally stop crying and he carefully wipes away every tear that's left on your cheeks with his thumbs, you do the boldest, stupidest thing in your entire, long life. You stand up on your tiptoes and connect his lips with yours.

He is... surprised by your unexpected act. At first he is unable to react to the way your lips move gently against his. You kiss him with a tenderness he has not felt for at least several centuries. And the Valar above, how sweet your lips were.

The tempting vision of the future he could have with you passes through his mind, enticing him more than any vision of power that Morgoth putted in his mind.

You take away his breath and any possibility of movement with each gentle biting of his lip. His heart beats uncontrollably quickly as he revels in your closeness and your ethereal scent, which wraps him better than any blanket could. He clings to your sofftness like a centuries-old thirst for touch-broken man that Morgoth had made him.

You pull away from him when he remains still for too long, fearing you've crossed a line. Allowing you to believe in it is the only crime he can’t commit.

His plans to slowly seduce you and use you to get on Galadriel's better side fly out the window as he desperately reaches for you. His needing of you is greater than anything he has felt since he took this new form.

And Valar, curse him if, after he has tasted you, he does not get all of you to himself.

He tangles a hand in your hair and, making sure his entire hand is securely around the back of your head, pushes you against the column in the courtyard with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

He’s quick to seize the opportunity, his tongue slipping past your slightly parted lips as he greedily savours every last bit of you, devouring you like a starving man as his other hand desperately grabs at your waist, taking a fistful of the material of your dress.

He wants to be as close to you as possible, any logical thought in his mind giving in to the force of his desire as he presses his entire body against you, wondering only where and how to take you, which places are your sweet spots, and what to taste first to put out the fire you've ignited inside him—a desire so great he's become its obedient slave in less than a blink of an eye.

And for a moment, he truly feels like a weak mortal. As you work just as quickly to unbutton his shirt, he feels like a regular human being. And he despises that feeling as much as he desires more.

"He is here." At Galadriel's words, you drop the white gown you were taking from the wardrobe.

Your maids rush to you, trying to save the silk dress from getting wrinkled, but you don't care. All you can think about is him. Sauron. Halbrand... Annatar. He was here.

"What?" You stare at her in shock as she nods her head for the rest to leave your chambers. The silence in the room is heavy, broken only by the hurried footsteps of the elves leaving, who have managed to do your wedding hair and light makeup.

"We... wanted to keep you away from it—Erlond, me, and Thranduil. We thought it would be the best for you. Sauron... he entered the city gates a week ago and... surrendered. Sort of. He let us lock him in his cell. He has no crown, no rings. He said he wanted to make an alliance with us. Peace. Of course we don't believe him. We're waiting for our allies to provide us with... the right means to get rid of his physical form for good. Before that... we'd like to get as much out of him as possible. Or rather, find out what his real plan is. But he's been silent for weeks. He wants to talk to you. Only you."

"You kept it in hidden? From me? Together with my future husband?" You ask coldly, inside seething with rage at their betrayal. How could they pretend nothing was happening for a week? That the greatest evil in Middle-earth hadn't come to your gates and wasn't lurking in the dungeons, waiting for the most likely moment to strike?

"Y.N, I… I know how you feel…"

"No. You don't know." You answer her firmly, piercing her with an icy gaze that makes her flinch. "Am I your enemy now? A less worthy ally who fell in love with an enemy? Because that's what he is to me, Galadriel. How dare you... how dare you doubt me after I've chosen you every time? After I had chosen Middle-earth and elves every single time! Each of us faces darkness, Galadriel. Even you are not made entirely of light. So I'm asking you, what right do you have to exclude me from your plans?!"

You explode in rage at her and walk over to her. You breathe quickly, air leaving your flared nostrils, and the urge to pin her to the wall with a dagger at her neck is overwhelming.

"Everything I do, I do for the good of Middle-earth."

"You're not the only one! What do you think is the reason for my marriage to Thranduil?! The good of Middle-earth, the strengthening of the alliance—that's all I've done for these cursed centuries at your side! But I thought I was your true ally and supporter. Thank you for reminding me that I fall short of your light and greatness, my lady."

Before she can say anything, you're already running out of the room. You ignore the elves milling around, who were listening to your conversation, and head to one place. The dungeons.

You can't ignore the pang in your heart as you consider your conversation with Galadriel. She didn't trust you. They didn't trust you. After all the years at their side, the sacrifices, the battle against the darkness within you, they thought of you as a lesser elf that any time can be consumed by the darkness. You were not a worthy guardian of Middle-earth in their eyes. And you probably never will be.

You blink faster, fighting back the tears that want to spontaneously come to your eyes, and practically run down the stairs. You don't ask the guards where he is. You can feel him clearly, the ring that still hangs safely on your necklace pulling you toward him, feeling him as soon as you set foot on the same floor he is on.

You prepare yourself to not show any emotion on your face. You take a few deep breaths and climb the last few stairs. A rather comical sight greets you. Six men stand by the bars, as if the chains and shackles around the neck, wrists, and ankles of the man in front of you were not enough to assure him that he would not escape. As if they could stop him if he actually wanted to escape.

You watch his new form closely as he drinks in your sight with an equally intense gaze, as if assessing all the changes in you since your last meeting. He is no longer Annatar. He doesn't have blond hair, but he is a near-perfect replica of Halbrand. A damn bastard knew too well which one of his forms you had weakness for.

"Leave me and the prisoner alone." You order the soldiers. They look at each other uncertainly. But you are in no mood to deal with their blatant refusal to immediately obey your words. “It was an order, not a request.”

You see a small, mocking smile spread across his face as he watches the soldiers hesitantly leave you alone. The door closes behind them with a bang, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. Centuries. That's how long it took for the two of you to be in the same room in flesh and blood.

It shouldn't feel this right.

"Personally, I think I made you a better ring." He begins, casting a significant glance at the Thranduil's ring that adorned your finger. For a moment, you felt as if the metal would melt under his contemptuous gaze.

"Personally, I believe that it is not the ring that is important but the one who gives it." You comment and take a step towards the bars. He can't move, thankfully, so there still is a decent distance between you two.

He's trapped in the middle of the room, chained to the floor with heavy chains. And though he looks defenseless... but deep down you know he's been through worse. No prison could hold him for long.

"Your little elf prince... did he finally tell you that I was locked here? Or was he too afraid I'd steal you from the altar? By the way, I didn't know you had a thing for blondes? Maybe Annatar wasn't as disgusting to you as you claimed."

"Oh Annatar was a self-absorbed, egotistical psychopath with unrealistic ambitions. A pretty close and faithful form of you. Probably the closest yet, Sauron." He frowns at the contemptuous, almost disgusted way you say his name. He clears his throat and shakes his head, chuckling darkly.

His mockery sends waves of anger through you as well as a warm, all-too-familiar feeling in your chest. His laughter was both poison and wine to you. How much would you give to be able to get lost in it with impunity...

"Now now. Why call me by a name you despise? We both know which one you like more... especially in the darkness of your chambers." You tremble slightly, but you don't let him know that the constant visions and dreams were affecting you in any way.

If you've learnt anything about him, it's that he doesn't like it when you don't react to his actions. And right now, you really want to piss him off; see him losing his composed and mocking demeanour, as if he were still playing the cards in your game, as if he were 15 steps ahead of you.

"Why are you here, Halbrand? Perhaps you prefer Annatar? The Dark Lord? It's hard to keep up with the nicknames you've been giving yourself lately, Lord of orcs and Mordor." You ask calmly, playing with the ring on your finger—a habit you had developed far before your engagement and, as you've just noticed, something that annoyed him when it wasn't his ring that you were showing off like that.

"Oh, well, someone had to carry a pillow with wedding rings at your…"

"You're wasting my time." You interrupt him coldly, staring at him intently. “Maybe I should just let Galadriel play with you while I focus on my husband?” You ask, rasing defiantly an eyebrow at him as you wonder if he will continue his stupid game or once in his life he will open his cards to you.

"Good thing we have eternity, right?" You sigh and roll your eyes at him. That was exactly how you remembered him.

What else could you expect from him? If he hadn't shown you the illusion, he would have entangled you in his dark web of lies. It didn't matter if he came to you in visions or stood before you in flesh and blood—he wasn't the one you fell in love with; he was much more. You should have realised after all those centuries that whatever was between you two wasn't love, affection, or anything decent.

He desired your power. Not you. Maybe you should finally take a hint.

Maybe he had shown you the darkness for too long to feel tempted by it any longer. Maybe this light was finally what you longed for. Or maybe you got bored of his little, sick games and manipulations. Maybe you craved for something real—something he obviously would never give you.

You turn your back on him and are about to leave when he suddenly calls your name. Not the pet names he liked to call you. Your name. Your real name. And something about the way it rolled over his tongue wouldn't let you just walk away from him.

Even though you should have done it ages ago. Even though the whispers of darkness had been tempting you for too long, and even though you knew perfectly well that it would be better for you to leave this room as soon as possible, you didn't.

You stop, but you don't spare him a glance again. You wait for what he has to say, not really knowing what you want to achieve with him. Because you are perfectly well aware that Galadriel has already informed Erlond and Thranduil about your sudden outburst and that they are most likely eavesdropping on the two of you now. HE probably knew that too. Just as you all knew that he wouldn't appear here without a serious reason.

"Not in a joking mood, I see. You'd be a lot happier as my bride, by the way. But if you insist, I think I can tell you this great secret, but it must remain just between us two, my sacred light." He pauses, clearly waiting for you to look at him again. You sigh and reluctantly turn to face him. The intensity of his sea-green gaze burns worse than any flame, making you feel like you're the one being interrogated and shackled by him. "Actually... I'm here to replace your groom if he decides to run away from the altar. I wouldn't want the beautiful sight of you in your wedding dress to go to waste."

"Who said he would leave me? Thranduil loves me." You speak with complete certainty of the prince of Mirkwood's feelings for you. You wish you had as much confidence in yourself as you do in him.

"Not a big achievement. He's not the only one. He's not the only one who put a ring on your finger, is he? But tell me... what seems more... intimate? Wearing one on your finger or on a chain around your neck, close to your heart?"

After his words, the ring on your chest - the very one he gave you - becomes heavy, heavy under the awareness that his words carry a bit of truth... Why would you still keep his ring close to you if you already had one?

"You tell me. It seems that of the two of us, you know the most about the chains. Especially the dark ones."

"I may be chained to the darkness. But you, my stubborn and beautiful elf, are chained to the light. Tell me, Y/N, does the Valar answer your prayers and your pleas after you have cried out to me in the darkness of so many nights? Can you whisper their names in your holly gardens, knowing it is mine you wish to scream out loud for all of Middle-earth to hear?"

Only when blood is running in a stream from your hand do you realise that you've gone to the bars and wrapped your hand around them, squeezing tightly so you hurt yourself. He's drawn you to him like a spider to its prey, wrapping you in the web of his words, making you lose your guard enough to get close to the bars. And that was your mistake.

In an instant, he’s in front of you. You gasp in shock, unable to process when he’s freed himself from his shackles or when he’s wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled it through the bars. All you can do is hold your breath and watch as he licks your wound, moaning as your crimson blood spreads across his taste buds, tasting you like you’re the most exquisite of drinks.

"We belong together, my lady." He says this nickname mockingly as he leans down to press his lips to your hand. "No matter how far or fast you want to run, or who you want to run with. I will always find you. I will always be near. You will be able to feel my breath on your neck in every dark night. You will always be mine, Y/N."

You gasp as his lips move up your hand. He’s so close, your noses brushing through the bars as he forces you closer to him, to feel you the way he wants.

You gasp as he slides his hand along the sharp edge of the bars and mixes your blood with his, pressing your hands together tightly. You watch as the black, thick liquid runs down his wrist, and an unwanted little voice in the back of your head convinces you to lean down and taste his blood with the tip of your tongue. You stand there, staring at him as if spellbound, unable to move as he presses kisses to your joined hands, spreading your blood across your skin.

Suddenly, you are being dragged backwards by two strong pairs of arms. And although Halbrand... Sauron tries to hold you by force, almost crushing your wrist, Erlond and Thranduil pull you away from him.

"That's a very rude way to interrupt someone's conversation." He comments unimpressed, running his finger over the bars where your blood still is. He sucks his thumb, humming at another metallic taste, irritating your not-yet-husband.

"You're lucky there's no suitable weapon here yet to end your miserable life, you disgusting, cursed Maiar. I'd like to see you try to get close to her, no longer having any physical form."

"I would still have a better chance of getting a taste of her wonderful nectar and light, little prince. Actually, I've already done it. What about you?"

You knew perfectly well what game he was playing and how much he wanted to spore the elf so that he would slip and stab him with his sword, thus not killing him fully but allowing him to take another form. But Thranduil seemed too agitated to leave him without a word, and Erlond was too interested in getting more information out of Sauron to stop his friend.

"I can connect with her in a more meaningful way. First of all, I have enough light in myself to bind our souls to each other." Sauron frowns in displeasure, never taking his contemptuous gaze off your fiancé.

"You may not know this, Elven Prince, but darkness is as good a connection as any, and a much stronger one I dare to say. Besides... you cannot bond with one who is already taken."

This is clearly too much for Thranduil to bear. The Prince of Mirkwood is in front of Sauron in a split second, his blade at his neck. A thin line of black blood runs down to his collarbones as he, unfazed, still smirking, stares down at your fiancé.

"Thranduil leave him." You butt in and place a hand on the elf's shoulder. He looks at you sideways, his jaw clenched and his hand trembling slightly against Mairon's neck as he is still tempted to take his life. You gently grab his wrist and pull his hand away from Sauron, ignoring the searing look he gives you as you touch another man before him. You gently cup the elf's cheek and force him to look at you. "He is not worth it. Let us go, he will not tell us anything useful, he will only confuse our minds. This is just another of his numerous games."

"You know perfectly well that not all of this was a lie, Y/N. And if anything… I'm not the only one here who resorts to it, am I, my beloved nemesis?" You try to ignore the look Sauron gives you from behind Thranduil's shoulder.

You lean down and gently connect your lips with the elf's. He seems to melt into your kiss, one of your rare acts of tenderness. And you can't quite give yourself over to the feeling of his lips against yours enough to not hear the soft growl of the man behind you.

"Let's take this wedding. We won't achieve anything here anyway." You say, moving away from him and trying your hardest to ignore the pain in your chest and the cries for the Dark Lord that Erlond and Galadriel were taking care of.

But you knew well that his imprisonment wouldn't last long. He'd get out. The only question was when... and what was the real reason of his comming here.

The ceremony is beautiful. Really. Even though you may not be the most enthusiastic bride, you are happy that your people have something to celebrate and have a moment of respite from the danger that is now closer than ever. With Sauron in the dungeon and an army of orcs on the loose, anything could happen. And you didn't want to even imagine the many possible scenarios.

"A coin for your thoughts?" Thranduil quickly joins your side, handing you one of the goblets in his hand.

You smile softly at him and take a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the taste. He chuckles and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you watch the dancing elves.

This wasn't exactly how you imagined this connection between you two to look like. Elven couples who chose to bind their souls together through marriage spoke of a great connection of souls and minds, but you barely felt this link between him and you.

For a moment you thought you had said your vows wrong, but Thranduil didn't seem to act like anything was wrong. So you too pretended that everything was completely fine. Just as always.

"Honestly, this isn't how I imagined our wedding would be." You chuckle softly, sipping the drink he gave you.

"Well, that wasn't what I had in mind either, my dear wife. But it doesn't make it any less joyful. You're mine. Finally." He whispers and presses a kiss on your temple. A shiver runs through you as he gently slides a ring onto your finger. The engagement ring that somehow disappeared from your finger. You frown and give him a questioning look. "Sauron must have stolen it from you somehow. I'm just returning it to its rightful place—my queen's finger." He replies and reverently places a kiss on the back of your hand.

You frown and look at the metal band on your finger. It was… oddly heavier. Like more massive. Strange, since it was the exactly same ring as few hours ago.

"Is there something wrong, my love?" He asks sweetly, taking the empty chalice from you.

You absentmindedly play with the necklace around your neck, freezing when you realize you don't have the familiar weight of Sauron's ring hanging around your neck.

"Shall we dance? For the first time as husband and wife?" Before you can answer, he already has you in his arms and leads you to the dance floor. You surrender completely to his guidance, feeling your head hum slightly.

All you can look at is him. Your vision can't focus on the couples dancing around you or anything else except him. And suddenly, you see it. A small crack in your fucking vision.

You can't believe how you could be so stupid and naive.

"I... Sauron" You mumble, feeling slightly disoriented as the poison he gave you is starting to work. Suddenly, you are overcome with immense fatigue, and all you can do is lean against him as you wander into blissful nothingness.

"My beautiful light. Only mine. My wife." He whispers in your ear, confirming your too-late suspicions, and easily scoops you up into his arms.

You dream a dream without dreams. Very strange occurrence since for centuries you were haunted by him in any moment of peace.

It must have bordered on obsession, since the first thought you had after waking up was always him. He made you crazy without even trying, without even being close to you in flesh and blood.

And you're genuinely afraid of the lengths he'll go to once he finally has you within his reach.

"I know you are not sleeping, my dear wife. Your breathing quickened about 10 minutes ago."

You don't know how you could have been so stupid and naive. How you could not have noticed the obvious difference in Thranduil's demeanor. Just like you have no idea how he did it, how he managed to plan this entire show and execute exactly what he wanted. Just as always.

"Eventually you'll have to open your eyes. Don't you want to see our kingdom, my love?"

"Don't call me that, you disgusting plague." You growl, finally opening your eyes. You're in a bedroom, pitch black. You're lying on the most velvety silk sheets, but it's not them or the decor of the room that catches your eye.

He sits just a few feet from your bed. He's wearing black armour made of sharp metal plates. There's a streak of red blood on the side of his face. You shiver, wondering what he had to do to get that blood there.

"Now now. Is this the way to greet your newly wedded husband?" He asks mockingly as he slowly approaches you.

You sit on the bed and rest your back against the headboard, trying to move away from it as far as the handcuffs attached to your ankles will allow.

"I didn't marry you. I was promising myself to Thranduil." You say stubbornly as he slowly sits down on the edge of your bed.

You glare at him sternly as he lazily reaches up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. The ring on his finger—the very one you thought you were putting on Thranduil's finger—pricks your skin unpleasantly, mockingly reminding you of your great mistake.

"But that wasn't really him standing before you, was it? Your elven prince's… his… appearance is currently far from what you remember. You could always be mistaken, my love."

His voice is so sweet that it is nauseating. He drops his hand and suddenly stands up from the bed. He goes to the closet and starts to take off his armour, completely oblivious to the fact that you're in the same room as him. How you wish you had access to a small knife right now...

"What did you do to him?" You ask, your voice shaking as a thousand possibilities race through your mind. You can't believe how all of you fell for the idea that there was some way you could make him defenceless and block his powers. Millennia on his back, and he still played you however he wanted.

You shiver as he suddenly stands before you again. He gently cups your cheek in his hand and stares at you as if you were another addition to his collection of prized possessions he’s torn from the throats of his enemies. The pearl in his dark crown of scorched lands.

"He wanted to take you from me. You know very well what I do with thieves, my precious light of life. I burn them." He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. His stubble stings unpleasantly, your heart pounding at his closeness, but still all you can do is sit there in shock, wondering how he managed to gain control over you. And how best to play your cards to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else.

"I wasn't yours. Not for anyone to steal me from you."

"Your mistake, for which his pretty face paid. Do you know how much time I spent convincing my army not to feed on him once they smelled the delicious scent of a burnt elf?" He asks, unfazed, continuing to press his lips against your skin. His hand tangles in your hair and wraps it around his.

He tilts your head back and buries his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling at your sensitive skin. You hold your breath, biting your lower lip until it bleeds.

A tear slips down your cheek, but he ignores it, ignores your quick breaths and broken sobs as you mourn the one man who truly wanted to save you from falling into the darkness. From falling into the arms of the Lord of the Rings.

"You are a monster." You whisper, unable to hold your voice back from a broken sob. His hand works on the fastenings of your nightgown, oblivious to the fact that you are currently reliving the suffering and death he brought to the land of Galadriel and your would-be husband.

"I am your husband. That's all that matters now."

He leans down and captures your lips. You can only moan as the force of his kiss cuts off all other sensations you feel. His lips claim yours as if it were his eternal right, one you've denied him and one he's had to rightfully fight for. You feel him sigh softly as he presses you against him, making sure he feels yours against every inch of his body. He's not kissing you. He's conquering you. He's marking his territory, laying claim to every tiny part of you, not wanting to leave any part of you unsullied by him.

He had cursed your spirit utterly centuries ago. He had planted the seeds of darkness that had only flourished in the centuries away from him. And now, having gathered enough of an army and grown strong enough to be virtually unstoppable, he was taking your body for himself.

And you realize that even the Valar do not forgive you your sin in wanting him even after all the terrible things he has done.

You still try to fight him. With the last of your strength, you push him away from you, trying to protect the remnants of light that remain in you. Light that he desired as much as he wanted to destroy it through his darkness.

"What have you done? Where am I?" You growl, trying your best to hide how panicked you are. You reach for your powers and throw him across the room.

You throw off the bonds that bind you and walk to the nearest window. You hold your breath as you see the lands that were once sacred gardens, where you prayed to the Valar, engulfed in flames and ash. He destroyed it all. He razed the entire city to the ground. All because you dared to bind yourself to someone other than himself.

"In your husband's house. Right where you belong." He approaches you silently and presses a kiss on your shoulder. He wraps his hands around you like a snake, tightening his grip on you.

You hyperventilate at the destruction you've brought upon those you loved. You wonder how many of them survived, how many escaped, how far his armies have spread, and how long he's kept you locked away in his golden fortress like a sick prize that you clearly were to him.

In your last, feeble attempt at rebellion, you scream. You scream until your throat aches, and much longer after that. You turn in his arms and throw yourself at him in a frenzy with fists and nails, wanting to hurt him as much as he hurt all the people of Middle-Earth and you. You want to hurt him so much that he will feel it in every tiny part of himself, so he will be able to feel your own pain and despair.

You curse him in both elven and general speech; you throw insults at him; you struggle and fight with him. The fact that he stands calmly without losing his composure, taking your blows as if they were nothing, makes you even angrier and more passionate in your efforts to hurt him. You hit him even harder; you want to throw him off balance, drive him insane—just like he just did to you. You feel extremely powerless when you realise that you cannot.

"Have you finished?" He asks, catching your wrists in both hands as your attacks become less frequent and your screams turn into quiet sobs.

He pushes you against the wall and presses you against it, immobilising you. His other hand gently wipes the tears from your cheeks, as if that would somehow ease the ache in your chest. You feel as if the last of your light is dying a slow, painful death with each of his touches.

"Not even close. Let me out. Let me out or I'll go mad. I'll go crazy. I'll make sure every single day of your damn life is a nightmare."

"You won't. I need your light, Y/N. It's the only thing keeping me sane among these stinking orcs. And if you go mad... then we shall go mad here together. As husband and wife. For sickness and for worse. Until we heal all Middle-Earth."

"You are already lunatic." You promise him, twisting your wrists so you can dig your nails into his palms. He hisses slightly, but doesn't remove his hands from you.

"Possibly. But I'm not your monster. I didn't kill them, Y/N. Your little friends should have died, but I spared them. I only took their land from them. I showed mercy, Y/N. For you. Because of you. My wife. Don't you see that? Don't you like the control you have over me, my lady, my light, my sweet and dear wife?" With each new nickname he trails kisses along your temple to your cheek, stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Doesn't that mean more than anything I have done for you?"

"It means nothing. It never meant anything and never will. You have no soul; you have no light. You can't... you can't bond with me... with mine... you won't pollute me."

You shiver as he runs his tongue from your jawline to your neck, stopping suddenly to suck a hickey into your skin. You gasp and bite your lip hard, trying not to let out any more sounds of pleasure, but you can’t just ignore the way he presses himself perfectly against you.

"Oh, Y/N…you know so little of the powers of darkness. I am already one with you. I have been through the ages and always will be. In body and soul, in mind, in dreams, in spirit, in flesh and blood, I will always be a part of you."

He's right. You know he is because you feel him with your whole being. Even hundreds of years apart didn't manage to get you out of the clutches of his influence.

He poisoned your mind through your dreams and entered your body like a venomous poison, starting with your soul and ending with your flesh. And the worst in all this situation was that you didn't know how to stop him.

"You… you promised you would leave me alone. That you wouldn't lift a finger until I called for you, until I came to you myself." You mumble as he pushes you back into the bed.

He straddles you and cups your cheek tenderly in his hand, watching you closely. He plays with you slowly, like a spider that has captured its prey in its web, savouring every moment he can explore your body with his fingers.

"Apparently you needed a little push. Beside that, didn't you ever try to reach me?" He asks, slowly weaving your hand into his. The rings on your fingers mock you more than his words. Because did you really defend yourself with all your might when you landed so easily in his arms? "You will beg for me, Y/N. You will crave my company. I will wait until the memory of any other kindred spirit than me dies in you. I am very patient, Y/N. Ages and aeons have taught me this. I will wait until you have no shelter, no confidant, no friend, no lover left on this world but me."

With that dark promise, he pushes your back down on the bed. He hovers over you, giving you no time to respond. He swallows your every breath hungrily, as if he'll never get to kiss you again, but you both know perfectly well that now that you're finally in his iron grip, it's quite the opposite. He has all the time in the world to destroy you. A thought that, along with the intensity of his kiss, fades inside you as you allow yourself to give in to your darkest, wildest, most ardent desires.

With every kiss that marked your body, every little moan, every soft gasp, you felt yourself sink deeper into the depths of darkness. His fingers caressed your skin, igniting something much more than lust within you.

And even though you love the way he feels against you, digging your nails into his back and tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him as close as you can, wanting and needing him to finally become one with you after all these centuries, you don't give in to him completely.

You knew what he was like, what he was capable of, and what sweet lies his lips could tell as they caressed your breasts, peppering every inch of your exposed skin in a frenzy of kisses as his fingers prepared you for him. You could moan and hold on to him tightly, pretending he had you all to himself as the edge of his wedding ring brushed against your walls, but deep down, every little connection to him made you want to fight him even more.

But you'll play smarter next time. You were a diligent student, and he's just taught you a very important lesson. Patience is golden. So you'll wait. Wait until he believes he's completely tamed you, that you'll willingly become his king, his Queen of the Rings. You'll make him believe you're his and his alone, and at the right moment you'll plunge the dagger into his Mordor-black heart.

You cry out and bite his shoulder when, just as you think about plunging the dagger into him, he thrusts his length into your wet, aching walls. And the Valar above, if this were to be a sin, then you no longer wish to remain holy and pure.

As he begins to thrust into you with all his strength, no longer holding back the lust and desire suppressed for years, you wonder if this is the ecstasy elves feel when they return from this world and become one with the light of the Valar. If not, you are glad he has led you far away from that path.

He whispers something to your ear in black speech, but to you these are just fragments of meaningless words, as your head buzzes with the flood of feelings he gives you. He is relentless in his conquest of you, and for a moment you truly feel utterly defeated and at his mercy. It is only when the blood from his arm—from the exact place where you bit him—runs down your chest that you remember that this is not the end for you. You will not submit to him. Ever. He may have won you through deception, but he will never extinguish the fire within you—the light that may not have been as pure but still blazed beneath the surface of your skin.

"Bind... yourself to me." He grunts between his hard thrusts, trembling as he nears the edge. You don't know if it's a command or a needy cry of the desperate, lonely immortal, but you know that if your plan is to succeed, you must give him part of yourself he could hold on to...

“Halbrand!” You moan when he suddenly slides his hand between you and stimulates your clit, teasing you and bringing you closer to your pleasure, caressing you the way you used to do in the dark of night with him in mind.

"Mairon." He breathes shakily, his tone bordering on pleading. You shiver, realising what he's just revealed to you. The name he didn't give himself. The one he had no control over. And maybe, if the circumstances were different, if he'd won you over differently, you'd appreciate more how... sensitive to you he had to become to share something like that. "My light... Mairon." He doesn't ask. He never does. But in that moment, you could take it as his prayer to you. A plea from the depths of his heart, where there's a shred of light left. Which you know perfectly well there isn't. Or at least you want to believe that he's completely rotten to the core. Otherwise, he could truly love you. And knowing that would destroy you.

"Mairon." You moan as you both fall apart and you open yourself up to him, doing what he asked of you - bonding yourself to him with flesh and blood.

He collapses on top of you, trapping you in the tight embrace of his arms. He presses his mouth to your temple, his nose in your hair as he inhales and absorbs every last bit of you, wanting to memorise this moment forever and etch it into the memory of his mind, into his very being.

You allow it. For both him and yourself, to enjoy this stolen moment of peace between you two.

Because Sauron forgot one important thing. That in the glow of your light he can both bask and burn. And since you can no longer remain holy and good like Galadriel, since that path of light was blocked for you from the day you met him and the Valar have turned their back on you, refusing to protect you and defend you against him, then you will become much worse than all of them.

Middle-Earth should beware of the new Lady of the Rings.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Lost Drafts

A Night Forgotten

A woodpecker on steroids had taken up residence inside her skull, and he was hard at work drilling a new home. All his banging around, in fact, was making her quite woozy. Her head spun and her stomach rolled.

“Fuck,” she sighed, as she groggily pushed the too-warm blankets off her chest and sat up. She'd drunk entirely too much last night at her best friend’s wedding reception, hadn't she?

While her best friends had been closing one chapter of their lives as separate individuals to open up a new one of togetherness, she'd lamented that page turning by drinking several shots of top-shelf liquor...which accounted for the giant, uncomfortable hang-over—a sensation she was intimately acquainted with the morning after every one of her friend's weddings that she'd attended over the years.

The last time she'd overindulged like this, she'd ended up in bed with an asshole, her ex-boyfriend, and it had taken two additional years of having him for a boyfriend after that for her to realise what a tremendous mistake it was attempting to make a real relationship out of a drunken one-off.

No good beginnings ever came from desperation, loneliness, and faulty judgement calls. That was, in fact, the recipe for a rather bad ending.

Bah, enough with the depressing thoughts! The real questions were: where was she this time and what had happened the night before, and why THE FUCK did she feel as if the whole world was gently swaying up and down?

Bleary-eyed and woolly-headed, she blinked multiple times to make the room come into focus. Black and white walls, charcoal grey carpeting, large nautical-styled windows to the left that looked out over the ocean.

Nope, not her bedroom.

What the hell.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly over the few pieces of furniture in the vicinity, as if they'd been tossed aside in a hurry without care. Yes, that was definitely her horrid-looking bridesmaid's dress lying in a pool of puffy crinoline and ivory and gold satin on the floor. One of her Dior pumps was visible near the open door, clearly the first of her outfit to be shucked, but where the other might be, she had no clue.

What did she get herself into, and with whom!?

It hurt too much to think, she realised as her head began throbbing in time to her heartbeat. Maybe she shouldn't do that for a bit, and just allow herself to take in the situation and the surroundings without judgment.

First things first, she needed to find out if she was currently sharing this extravagantly large bed with someone, and if so, who that might be. Gripping her pounding head, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder, hoping not to encounter anything shocking.

She supposed she should have qualified what determined the definition of 'shocking' before she'd looked. If 'shocking' was finding a naked man she recognised instantly by his distinctive tapered locs, face down and sprawled out in a deep snooze lying next to her, then she'd hit the mother lode. She was decidedly shocked.

And distressed, alarmed, amazed, and reeling in disbelief, too.

What in the absolute FUCK was Erik Stevens doing in bed with her?! And why were there scratches all up and down his back and shoulders and arms?! And what was with the very clear love bite that decorated the visible side of his throat? And why did his ass have small, fingertip-shaped bruises on them? And why was he clutching her lace panties to his nose as he slept?!

She looked down at her own state of nudity...and at her own set of bruises on her thick hips...and at her bare-lipped pussy, which hadn't been shaved when she'd left for the wedding yesterday afternoon...and at the deeply embedded teeth imprint around her left mocha nipple...and at the giant, loose diamond (was that thing real?!) winking at her from the cavern of her bellybutton where she'd apparently had it pierced.

Oh, no.

With trembling fingers, she reached and felt between her legs for the distinctive moisture that would signal...

Oh, shit.

She was wet and sore—very much so on both counts. There was no doubt about it: she'd definitely fucked her boss the night before.

But how...and why?

[dancingtotuyo]

High Infidelity Part IV

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature Explicit

Summary: Joel goes on a date.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: pining, jealousy, masturbation (male and female), voyeurism, self loathing, emotional affair, boundaries crossed

Notes: Things are getting a little spicy hehe. As usual, shout out to my beta readers @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (special shout out to Ang for the ✨spicy✨ idea 😜) and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 4818

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

When Joel asks you to watch Sarah on Friday night, you don’t hesitate to say yes. Then, two minutes later you call him back and ask why. You’re surprised when he tells you he has a date. You should tease him, nag for details, but it’s none of your business. You find yourself wanting to know everything and nothing.

Joel is a grown-ass man. A single man at that, but it nags at you. Who is she? Where did he meet her? The two of you spend most of your free time together. In the six years you’ve known Joel, you can’t remember him ever mentioning a woman. 

His sole focus has always been Sarah. You suppose Tommy is on that list too, and Nathaniel. The two of you have matching worry lines thanks to your husband, and you guess by default you’re on the list too. If there’s one thing Joel Miller is committed to, it’s family.

Joel comes down in dark-wash jeans and a simple button-down. You didn’t know he owns jeans that nice, hugging his thighs, leather belt cinched at his waist. Your eyes rake over him perhaps a moment longer than needed. He hadn’t looked that nice at your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

You raise an eyebrow letting out a low whistle as he enters the kitchen. “Lucky lady.” You take a bite from your apple slice. You point the paring knife at his jeans. “Those new?”

Joel knits his eyebrows together. “No. Why?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

“You keep tabs on my closet?”

“We’ve basically lived together for 3 years. You wear the same two pairs of work jeans and five ratty T-shirts in rotation. I wouldn’t be surprised if your shirts have the days of the week labeled on the inside.”

“Church clothes.”

You scowl. “We don’t go to church.”

“Speak for yourself, Darlin.” He chuckles, checking his watch, the one you gave him for Father’s Day. You shoot him a suspicious look. “The kids out back?”

“Yup.” You say, taking another bite of apple. 

Joel’s fingertips brush across your shoulders as he passes by, the warmth of his cologne fills your nostrils as he rushes out. A pit settles deep in your stomach. You’re not sure where it stems from, but you don’t like it. You feel uneasy. 

The back door shuts just as a tap on the front door echoes through the house. You sigh, not really wanting to answer it. The pit grows and you still don’t understand where it’s coming from. Sarah and Nathaniel’s muted laughter filters through as you open the door. 

She’s pretty you think. Not someone you consider to be a show-stopper, but exactly what you would picture Joel going for. There’s something almost familiar about her. She looks taken aback when you open the door. You plaster your well-practiced Southern hospitality smile on your face. 

“I’m Joel’s sister-in-law. Just here to watch the kids.” You hold out your hand. Relief floods her features.  

“Tracy.” She takes your hand.

“Nice to meet you.” You can’t shake the nagging air of familiarity about her. It itches your brain, hanging on the tip of your tongue. Have you seen her at parent pick-up before? “Joel should be back soon. He’s just saying goodnight.”

Tracy nods, clutch held tight in both hands. Maybe it makes you an asshole, but you don’t invite her in, forcing her to stand at the threshold of an open door. She wears a solid dress. Her makeup is tasteful and leagues ahead of anything you’d ever be able to pull off, especially with a rowdy toddler. 

For a second you miss it. The freedom that is. You wouldn’t give up Nathaniel for the world. Hell, you wouldn’t give up Tommy for the world even with the shit you’re going through, but the ability to go out at a moment’s notice and let the alcohol loosen your inhibitions, you miss that. Tracy couldn’t be much older than you. Maybe a year or two. Did you go to high school together? Is that why she looks familiar? 

There’d been a couple Tracys in your small high school, but none that look like her. 

“You have a son, right?” Tracy says. You nod. She smiles as if proud of herself for remembering the fact. “Joel mentioned that you two do a lot together- with his brother being in prison.”

“Yeah, we do.” Your shoulders stiffen and your smile tightens. So this wasn’t their first date. They knew each other well enough for Joel to divulge your business like it was front-page news. Though, you suppose it had made the paper. 

“Well, I got them both riled up for ya,” Joel says, walking through the house. He plays with the cuffs of his shirt before looking up. He seems startled to find the door wide open and Tracy on the other side. “Oh- Hi.”

“Hi,” Tracy laughs.

He looks between the two of you like he’s seen a ghost. You cross your arms, a faint smirk playing across your lips. “Just remember payback’s a bitch.”

“Yeah... I don’t doubt it.” Joel almost mutters it under his breath. He joins Tracy on the other side of the threshold, pressing a distracted kiss to her cheek. “You ready to go?”

You catch the weirdness of Joel’s demeanor, familiar with all of his tendencies by now. You raise an eyebrow in question, but Joel won’t look you in the eye. His arm wraps around Tracy’s waist, pushing her toward his pickup. 

“Make yourself at home.” Joel throws his hand up in a wave despite his back being turned to you. 

“Always do!” You call back. 

You watch them until the truck is out of the driveway, confusion written across your face as you process the odd interaction. Why was Joel acting so weird- like you weren’t supposed to meet the mysterious lady he’d obviously been out with more than once, and why hadn’t he told you yet? And why did she look so damn familiar?

The moment the door clicks behind you, it hits. You freeze. The familiarity in her face is one you see every time you look in the mirror. She’s not your twin by any means, but Tracy could be your cousin, your sister even. Something you can’t place settles in your gut.

The kids are finally asleep. The TV drones on, but you don’t hear a sound of it. The whole interaction plays on repeat in your mind. You chew on your thumbnail. You can’t stop thinking about them, where they are, and what they might be doing. 

You glance down at your watch. 10:30. You don’t typically go to bed this early, and you’re not tired, but you can’t get it off your mind. Sleep is your only option for relief. 

Checking on the kids, you slip into Joel’s room. You’ve stayed in here more times than you can count as Joel always insists you stay in his bed. It’s automatic how you pull one of his shirts from the drawer. Not one of his five shitty work shirts but one of the well-worn ones he wears on the weekend after he showers. They’re soft. They smell like him, sawdust and old spice, not the cologne you caught on him this evening. You slip under the cool sheets, stretching out your bare legs and burying your face in his pillow. You’re surrounded by him here. 

You thought it would turn off the thoughts, silence your mind, but it doesn’t. If anything they ramp up. You know there’s no way Joel’s had her here. He wouldn’t bring a strange woman into his home, Sarah’s home, that quickly. No, it’s all him in here… and you. 

It’s just after eleven. You’re not asleep. Joel’s not home and your mind is running through the memories as it often does when you lay alone. You’ve spent more nights alone than with someone since you got married. You should be used to it, but you’re not. There should be someone next to you right now. 

Tossing and turning, an idea sparks in your mind. There’s one surefire way to get yourself to sleep. The mere thought sets desire through your veins. Goosebumps prickle your flesh. Your nipples perk up under Joel’s soft shirt. It’s been a while since you’ve touched yourself. 

Kicking the blankets off of you, you let your fingers skim over your bare thighs, moving them upward until your shirt is tucked under your breasts. Joel’s shirt. It has you pausing. This crosses so many lines. You can’t do this here, in your brother-in-law’s bed, in Joel’s bed where it smells like him. Where it feels like him. 

Your cunt clenches and a soft groan escaped from your lips. You’ve barely touched yourself, not enough for that response. Your heart rate refuses to calm down, the flame of desire already spreading from deep in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, not here, but your fingers trace up and over your sternum again, slipping under Joel’s shirt. You brush your thumb over the hardened buds. You’ll change the sheets tomorrow. He’ll never know. 

A soft moan tumbles over your lips. Your body moves of its own volition, pressing into your touch. Your hands move down and across your skin. You run them over your favorite places to be touched, everywhere except where you want to be touched the most. You avoid it, waiting until your panties start to cling to you, excess moisture soaking into them. A finger runs over the seam of your lower lips. Another moan falls from your mouth, hips bucking up. 

You push down your panties, flinging them off once they hit your ankles. Your fingers slip between your folds. You’re slick, spreading it up and down, over and around your clit as need builds in your body. Another moan threatens to fall from your mouth, each one growing in volume. You bite down on the collar of Joel’s shirt. Another whiff of him overtakes you. Your cunt clenches as you finally slip a finger in and then a second. 

The house is dark when Joel gets back. He feels like a dick. He’d been distracted the whole time. He saw it the moment he spotted the two of you together- the resemblance. He felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner, and even more when he couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole night. There’s nothing wrong with Tracy. She’s perfectly nice, but the bubble has popped. She’s not you. He won’t be seeing her again.

It doesn’t help that he knew he’d come home to a dark house. He knows you’re asleep in his bed right now in one of his shirts, and Lord help him, it kept him distracted all night. 

He’s quiet as he walks up the stairs so as to not wake you or the kids. He stares at his bedroom door, taunting him. You’re in there and he knows what you feel like sound asleep in his arms. You haven’t talked that night. In fact, you’ve acted like it never happened and he’s followed suit. He wonders if he could slip behind you now. If you would let him hold you. 

He lets out a long sigh, fighting with himself. He needs to slip in, grab a pair of sweats, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to pull himself out. He can sleep in his boxers, maybe find some sweats in the laundry. His hand drops from the door. 

He’s going to walk away. He’s not going to cross that line again. That’s his brother’s wife. The woman Tommy told him to take care of. He has to stop this. He can’t- and then he hears it. Soft and quiet at first. A soft gasp that hitches, like it got caught on something. 

He freezes. It’s probably nothing, a dream, his imagination. Then he hears it again, this time pitched lower, like it comes from a deeper place. He can’t discount that one. As much as his brain screams at him to go, run, his feet stay anchored to the floor. He’s desperate to hear it again, and he’s rewarded with another moan. 

They’re intentional. You’re doing that to yourself in his bed. He bites his lip, hand falling to the door frame to stabilize him. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be envisioning you spread out on his bed, toes curling against his sheets. The blood rushes straight to his cock and Joel knows he’s about to cross a line he can’t come back from. 

Another moan comes out of the room. He flips open the button of his jeans, hand slipping beneath the waistband stroking his already hard cock. Maybe it makes him a creep, but he’s never been more grateful for the thin walls in the house. 

Your noises of pleasure grow. Joel bites back his own, nails digging into the door frame. Precum leaks from the tip of his dick. He catches the way your moans grow more desperate as you take yourself closer. He works himself to the edge with you, wanting to hold off until you’re there. 

You’re so close to falling over the edge. Your fingers glide over your clit with ease, soaked with your slick. You’ve been pushing the images away the whole time, trying not to go there, but the closer you pull yourself to bliss, the harder it is to keep them at bay. Your eyes drift shut as you lean into the feeling, willing yourself over the edge. They flash in your mind, pictures of him over you, calloused hands running over your bare body, his deep baritone in your ear as he pulls you apart. The tension between your thighs breaks free. You don’t realize how loud you cry out, ears ringing with pleasure as his name effortlessly rolls off your lips. 

You lay there, still, chest heaving. Not Tommy’s name. Joel’s. 

Before you have time to comprehend what just happened, it breaks through the silence. A soft, bitten back moan on the other side of the door in a tone you can only recognize as his and the faint whispers of your name. Your eyes widen. Had he…? 

Your brain races with the possibilities as you lay bare, tshirt pushed above your breasts. He could walk in. You hadn’t locked the door. You could open the door to him, take his hand, invite him into his own bed. 

You cringe. When did you become this person? The one who lusts after another man while married? As much as you’re ashamed, you fight against the temptation. You want to give in. You want to be touched and desired again. You’d seen it in Joel’s eyes that night at the beach. He would give you what you needed. Before you can make a decision, you hear the steps creak. He’s walked away. 

You let out a deep breath, not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved. You roll over, burying your  head in Joel pillow, wrapping yourself in his comforter, cunt still slick and dripping. 

Lucky for Joel, he’s able to find clean sweats in the dryer and then starts the washer with his jeans and boxers, washing away all evidence of his sins. 

He settles on the couch with just the decorative pillow and throw blanket. It’s hot anyway so the blanket is quickly kicked to his feet. He can’t put it out of his mind. Any of it. You. 

He tries not to think about the sounds you made in his bed, the things you did. He tries not to think about you asleep in his arms, but with all things, the more you try not to think about them, the more you do. 

Joel has accepted that he’s not a good man. His intentions with you are no longer pure, but self seeking. Yes, he cares for you and your well being, but he wants you. He needs you near him. He needs you to realize he’s been here through it all. That Tommy has done nothing to be worthy of you. Joel has spent more of your marriage being your husband than Tommy has. 

He clenches his fists. Anger surges through him. Joel doesn’t care if it makes him a bad person. If he had a way to go and turn back time, he would. He’d find a way to meet you before Tommy did. He would make you his. He would save you from the heartache of being Tommy’s wife. You would be his Mrs. Miller. 

Joel wishes he’d kissed you at the beach. He wanted to. God knows how badly he’d wanted to. It took every last ounce of self control not to. His stores are depleted. Between that and tonight, Joel has no more restraint to offer this situation. If you ever give him the chance again, he won’t hold back. He doesn’t care that you’re married to his brother. You deserve better. You deserve the world. Joel believes he can give it to you. 

You both sleep better than you have in weeks. 

“I never understood back to school nights,” Joel grumbles, stuffing a store bought chocolate chip cookie in his mouth and washing it down with cheap faculty room coffee. “Want some?”

“You know I don’t drink caffeine after two.” 

Joel shrugs, taking another sip. “It’s not that good anyway.” 

You roll your eyes. “What about back to school nights makes you grumpy? It’s a chance for Sarah to see where she’ll spend most of her time for the next nine months.”

“Then where is she?” Joel raises an eyebrow. “Out on the playground because it only takes 5 seconds to see the classroom and she’d rather play with her friends.”

“You’re a grump.”

“Yeah, a grump who’d rather be watching the game.” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder. “Have you at least talked to her teacher yet?”

He grimaces. “Haven’t worked up the courage yet.”

It isn’t that Joel doesn’t want to know the person responsible for educating his child. It’s the fact that Sarah has a knack for ending up with the young, single teachers as her educators, ones who seem very interested in her father as more than a parent. He’d been granted reprieve last year, but you’d caught the visible shudder in his frame the moment he’d laid eyes on Sarah’s teacher for the year, young and not a ring on her left hand in sight. 

“Stop judging a book by its cover. You’re a grown up.”

“Fine.” He sets down his coffee with determination. “Let’s go.” His hand finds your waist as he propels you both toward the teacher. 

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows knit together. You have a sneaking suspicion you know what he’s playing at. 

“We’re going to meet Sarah’s teacher.” He shrugs, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Miller.”

Your stomach does little flips. You’ve been mistaken for his Mrs. Miller more times than you can count at this point. You’ve attended Sarah’s parent teacher conferences when Joel got held up at a job sight, letting the teachers assume whatever they wanted. You are Mrs. Miller after all. But you’ve never done anything like this, not alongside him.  

He introduces himself and you to Miss Holly as he tugs you in closer to his right side. Your left arm instinctively wraps around his middle and you see the moment she watches the glint of your engagement and wedding ring under the fluorescent lights. 

It’s hardly the first time you’ve been mistaken for Joel Miller’s wife, but it is the first time he’s played into the assumption on purpose, with confidence. It’s the first time you let your mind forget it’s not true, even for just a few seconds, playing a part that doesn’t feel like playing at all. Joel lets his southern charm show now, protected by the guise of you as his bride. Before you know it, it feels too natural. Joel’s hand falls a bit, grasping your hip, tugging you closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You think maybe it is.  

Joel leads the conversation. You’re too caught up in the feel of his hand on your hip and the breathing of his chest under your palm. The night you almost kissed, the night you crawled into his bed and he held you through some of the best sleep you’ve gotten in years flashes in your mind. You think back to just last week, his name on your lips, that strangled, soft moan, and your own name you swear you heard. 

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” Sarah’s teacher says, pulling you from your thoughts. 

Joel offers his own goodbyes and you echo them, still fighting the haze inside your own mind. You wonder if there’s a world where this is your life, one where you and Joel aren’t playing make believe. One where you crawl in bed beside him every night instead of your empty bed. It’s an awful thought. Your husband gets released from prison in a few weeks. These thoughts will be gone by then. They have to be.

It was one night of indiscretion, two at the most, and you never actually did anything. You didn’t know Joel was on the other side of that door. Tommy doesn’t need to know. By his own admission, he’s actually crossed those boundaries. He’s broken your wedding vows. You glance at Joel’s profile as he leads you out of the classroom, a proud smirk on his face. The bastard enjoyed that way too much. 

When you make it to the hall, his fingers lace through yours. Is he forgetting too? Giving himself a moment to linger in the unspoken what ifs that seem to crowd around you these days. 

He drops your hand once you’re outside in view of the playground. He waves Sarah over, but you stay a couple steps behind, deep in thought until someone calls your name. Your head snaps in their direction. Julia and Micky Hall stand before you. Your eyes widen in recognition. Micky was one of Tommy’s Army buddies. They’d moved to Dallas after the group came back from their deployment. 

“Hi,” the words fall from your mouth in shock. “I didn’t know y’all were back in Austin.” Your feet carry you toward the couple. 

“Just moved back last month,” Julia says as you move to hug her and then Micky. “We’ve been meaning to call.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just good to see you both.” The smile across your face is genuine as you talk to your friends. You’d grown apart since their move. Other than Joel, Julia had been your closest friend during Tommy’s deployment. “How have you been? The boys?”

“Starting first grade,” Julia grins, pointing to her twin boys on the playground.

Your eyes catch them, running around. “They’ve grown so much.”

“How’s Nathaniel?” Julia asks.

“Good, growing like a weed as I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

“Too familiar,” Julia laughs. 

“Nathaniel isn’t going into Kindergarten, is he?” Micky asks.

“Next year. I came for Sarah’s back to school night. Joel’s daughter.” You point to where Sarah is just rushing over to her father. You feel the ghost of Joel’s touch when you utter his name. “We’ve been helping each other out a lot with everything.”

The couple nods, an awkward silence forming between you as if they don’t want to address the elephant in the room. The heat has let up a little bit as the sun begins to dip behind the trees. 

“I’ve written to Tommy a couple of times,” Micky says, hands tucked into his front pockets. “Haven’t heard back much.”

You force a nod, feeling the tension grow in your limbs. “I haven’t been able to get much from him.” 

You catch the way both their eyes widen. They were there the night you and Tommy met. They’d seen the way you fell, both of you. How inseparable your bond is, or was. 

“Shit,” Micky says, running a hand over his face. “How are you holding up?”

“Not sure I am most days. Joel’s been a big help to us.” It feels like you’re concealing the whole truth. Joel’s been the crutch keeping you going most days. Julia’s brow furrows with concern.

Micky nods. “I’d like to go see him if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“And we should get the kids together,” Julia adds. “Catch up ourselves.”

“That would be nice,” you smile at her as you catch Joel and Sarah waiting by the truck, laughing about something. “I should go, but you should call. Number’s still the same.”

“I’ll use it.” Julia smiles as you wave at both of them before crossing the parking lot with a weird feeling in your gut.  

Seeing Julia and Micky was nice. It brought back a lot of good memories. The four of you. It’s another reminder of how lonely the last years have been. How much you’ve depended on Joel. How much he’s been there. 

As you join Joel and Sarah at the truck, Sarah catches you up on all her friend’s summer vacations and updates, mouth moving a million miles a minute. She doesn’t stop as you climb in or for the click of your seat belt. You stay quiet, watching Austin wiz by out the passenger side window. 

When Joel pulls into your driveway, you let out a sigh staring at the door. He leans over the center console, keeping his voice low.  “You okay, Darlin? You’ve been quiet since we left.”

“Just tired. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” You fling the door of the pick up open. 

“Darlin?”

You bristle, smoothing out your skirt as you turn to face him. His brows knit together. “I’m fine, Joel.”

“You’re coming over tomorrow, right Aunt Bonnie?”

“Of course, Sarah Bear.” You blow her a kiss, shutting the door before Joel can protest. He makes sure you’re inside before pulling out of the driveway. 

Nathaniel is already asleep thanks to an afternoon at the playground and the magic your sitter works. You pay her extra tonight. You’ve never been more thankful to come home to a sleeping child, too distracted by the run in with your friends and Joel’s hot hands on you, the way he held you as if to tell the world to back off, you’re his. 

You pull the bottle of Tequila out of the cabinet. You’re tempted to pull straight from the bottle but you pour a finger or so into a glass instead. Your mother raised you better than that. She also raised you better than to pine after your brother in law. 

You throw back the whole glass. The cheap liquor burns your throat. You ran out of the good stuff last week with Joel and hadn’t made it to the liquor store yet. Joel had drunk you under the table, your tolerance not what it used to be. Not that you had ever been able to keep up with him. You fill the glass with another finger and toss it back. You can’t think about Joel. Can’t think about the way your wedding bands burn against your skin as if they are punishing you for tonight, for last week, for Father’s Day and for everything else. 

You pour more tequila into the cup, but you add ice and margarita mixer this time, knowing the first two shots will catch up to you soon enough. You fall onto the couch with a sigh. Three weeks. Just three weeks and Tommy will be back. You won’t see Joel everyday. Your husband will take care of you, satisfy you. That’s all this is. The deprivation of the last two and a half years. You can make it three more weeks. 

You try to reason it away. It makes sense. You and Joel have been so close in all this. He’s been your partner, not your husband, but partner. He’s an attractive man, thoughts were bound to pop up, lines were bound to get blurry, but all will correct itself when Tommy’s home. Yes, it all makes perfect sense. 

You take a sip of the margarita. Condensation trickles down your hand and ice rattles in the glass. Even as the numbness of the tequila shots begins to take over your body, the reassurances feel weak. 

Even if you can’t admit it, something has shifted. You and Joel are playing with fire. 

Three more weeks you push. Tommy will be home. You’ll have Your Tommy back. 

But you can’t erase the last two and a half years. Tonight, with the ghost of his hands on your body, you remember all the ways Joel has been there for you over these past years, filling in the gaping caverns Tommy left.   

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love

@justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours

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@millercontracting @cals-laundry @jessthebaker @noisynightmarepoetry @vickie5446 @mewantpeepaw @tulips2715 @leggtostandon

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @lotusbxtch @ravenn-darkholme

[heartsfromia]

the only exception — k. soonyoung

pairing: non-idol! soonyoung x f!reader

word count: 4,834

genre: romcom, fluffy, age-gap, older!reader x younger!soonyoung uwu

warnings: nothing really, just don't fall in love with a guy younger than yourself (speaking from experience)

author's notes: reader is a few years older than hoshi. i never proofread guys im sorry (i should tho)

There was rarely ever any good when Soonyoung gets a call from his mother on a Friday afternoon. Don’t get him wrong, he knows his mom tends to call at random times of the week—mainly to make sure he’s eaten while living alone, close to campus, and far from home, or if he needs any money to pay bills or any other expenses. Most of them are a ruse to cover up the fact that she misses him, and his presence at home. And ever since he entered his final semester in college, he could feel his mother’s presence sitting on his shoulder, whispering to him to find a girlfriend, find someone to settle with.

However, when it comes to phone calls specifically on Fridays, Soonyoung has noticed a pattern. Since it’s the last of the five week days, and the weekend is at their fingertips, he found that his mother would call him to ask if he was free for a lunch with his parents, and guests.

Who might those guests be? Parents to whoever it was his mother was planning on arranging him with. The years might go by, traditions might be forgotten, but when it comes to Mrs. Kwon, she’ll always stick to the tradition of marriage before hitting 25.

Soonyoung knew the moment her name appeared on his screen at exactly three in the afternoon, that she has another willing parent on her hand that would like to meet him for their child.

With a heavy sigh, Soonyoung took a step out of the library where he was hoping to spend his time in before his next class, before sliding the call and placing it by his ear. “Eomma, what’s wrong?”

“Soonyoung-ah, are you free tomorrow? Your father and I want to have lunch together,” she asked, her tone chipper than usual—another sign of an arrangement.

“With you and appa? No one else?” Soonyoung egged, causing his mother to chuckle lightly.

“How did you know?” She laughed, Soonyoung rolling his eyes and suppressing a sigh from leaving his lips. “There is a friend of your father’s that I want you to meet, he has a daughter that’s around your age and is on her way of becoming a lawyer—I want you to meet her.”

“I’ve said so many times, you don’t need to do this, I’ve barely gotten the hang of college, let alone plan a wedding,” Soonyoung protested, his hands moving in grand gestures around him in frustration.

“You are 20 years old, and you don’t have a girlfriend, what are you going to do once you finish college, Soonyoung?”

“I don’t know, maybe get a job, build my credit, invest in a future and then maybe consider marriage,” he explains, his exasperation over this repeated conversation evident in his sarcastic tone.

“You know, at your age, your father and I were engaged.” Soonyoung groaned, rubbing the ache that was forming in his temples as he hears his mother go on a rant how his parents had met when they were in their twenties, before tying the knot at the ripe age of 22. Despite the obvious generational differences, and how back then, marriage felt like an obligation rather than an option, his mother was adamant on having both her kids—Soonyoung and his older sister—to be wed off before they hit 25. To which she hoped she’d have grandchildren running around before her own children hit 30. It was an entire plan in the Kwon household.

“It’s different now, eomma,” he reiterated, “I don’t need to get married so quick, can’t you focus on Minkyung instead? She’s engaged, right? So you can bother her instead.”

“Yes, she’s engaged, but she’s still working and she doesn’t want to get married this year,” she explained, “right now, I want to focus on finding someone for you, do you really want to stay single until your thirties?”

“If I could,” Soonyoung muttered, but luckily his mother didn’t hear it.

“It’s time that you try to settle for a lovely girl—”

“I have a girlfriend already, eomma, and I don’t think she’ll be happy to know that I’m being set up on a blind date,” Soonyoung informed, the words slipping out faster than he, himself, realized and before he knew it, the damage was done.

His mother was silent on the other line, seemingly unconvinced, so Soonyoung added to the lies. “I met her a couple of months ago, I wasn’t sure if it was serious enough to tell you, but I’m happy with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have gone through so much to find someone for you, Soonyoung-ah!”

“I told you I met her a couple of months ago, I wasn’t sure if it was serious then.”

“Is it serious now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want to meet her.” And this, everyone, is why you shouldn’t lie to your mother.

“You want to… meet her?”

“Yes, of course, if you’re telling the truth then the lunch tomorrow doesn’t need to happen,” she explained, and for a second, Soonyoung was overjoyed. Before he realized what that entailed. “Does Sunday work? You can bring her, and we can have lunch at a restaurant.”

“Sunday?” He repeated, stunned. That was two days from now, he has to find a girlfriend in two days.

“Yes, I will make a reservation for four and you can bring her along.”

“Wait, eomma, you don’t—”

“Yeobo, I told you to— ugh, I’ll see you Sunday, Soonyoung-ah, don’t forget to eat dinner!” Before Soonyoung could make up an excuse. another lie, to avoid having to meet his parents with his apparent girlfriend, the phone call disconnected and all he could hear was the racing beat of his heart.

Returning back into the library, he walked back to the table he occupied with his friend, Seokmin, a distant look on his face as he sat back down.

“Where did you go? I almost thought you ditched me,” Seokmin stated, before realizing his friend was not listening. He tapped Soonyoung’s shoulder, causing him to jump. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I need a girlfriend.”

Stunned, Seokmin stared at his friend before looking down on himself, then back at Soonyoung. “Well, I don’t fall under your requirements, so…”

A low groan rumbled in Soonyoung’s throat as he covered his face in frustration. “How am I going to find a girlfriend before Sunday?”

“Is it your mom again?” Without removing his hands from his face, Soonyoung nodded. Seokmin threw his head back in laughter, earning glares from people who were studying quietly around him, the man sending apologetic looks around him. His eyes scowered the relatively crowded library of campus, an idea appearing. “What about finding one here? I’m sure someone out here is bored enough to be your girlfriend for a day.”

Soonyoung lifted his head, glaring at his friend. “That is a… good idea.”

Bewildered, Seokmin lifted his brow. “Really?” Soonyoung ignored him, body turning left and right as he tried to find anyone that looked alone and approachable.

“Soon, you’re not actually going to—” But before Seokmin could finish his sentence, his friend was gone and heading to a table where someone was seated alone, eyes focused on a cellphone instead of a book, or laptop.

That person was you.

You found yourself walking to a nearby university’s library on your day off, your apartment serving no purpose to clear your mind of boredom, and since you didn’t have any work to do, you chose to play a video game on your phone instead. The crowded atmosphere made you feel more productive about your day even if you were just on your phone playing games.

However, your focus on the offline game was broken when a presence appeared beside you, tapping your shoulder timidly. You looked up, finding a guy with a small smile on his lips as he greets you, “Hi, is this seat taken?” He gestured to the empty chair beside you and you shook your head, assuming he wanted to take to his own table, but was surprised when he sat down.

“Can I help you?” You asked cautiously, saving your game before placing your phone down.

“Yes, actually,” Soonyoung began, fidgeting with his fingers. “This might be a weird request, especially since we don’t know each other, but is there a possibility you’re interested in being my fake girlfriend to meet my parents on Sunday for lunch?” Soonyoung almost said it in one breath, and once the words were out, he held said breath, awaiting for your response.

The most expected response was to be cursed out, called a weirdo for thinking that his request was appropriate to ask the first girl he saw alone in a public place. He held his breath, waiting for the slap, or insults, or both as he stared at you processing it.

“Sure.”

“Yeah, I understa— what?” He was taken aback by your quick agreement to his bizarre request. “What did you just say?”

Your lips pursed as your shrug, turning to face him. “I said sure, I don’t have much going on in my life, anyway.” You were telling the truth. Your everyday routine was a back and forth of work and your apartment, because you weren’t necessarily happy at your job either, you never felt the need to connect with your co-workers about non-work-related things, minimizing going out.

The guy beside you also looked desperate, and you didn’t get bad vibes from him either, so it didn’t seem like a lose-lose situation.

“Really?” You nodded curtly. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle slipped past his lips. “Oh, well… Uhm, I didn’t know I’d get this far, to be honest.”

“Is there a reason why you need a fake girlfriend to accompany you have lunch with your parents?” You asked, hoping it’ll guide him into elaborating his plan more in depth than what his initial approach was.

“Ah, well, my mom is trying to set me up on blind dates, hoping that I’d marry before I reach 25, and obviously—” He gestured to himself, “—I haven’t even graduated yet.”

Your eyes widened, sitting up straight. “Oh, you go to school here?”

Soonyoung nodded, confused by your question. “Don’t you?”

You shook your head, his question eliciting a light laugh from you. “No, I’m just here because I’m bored—it’s my day off.”

He blinks a couple times, before asking, “You work?” You nod. “You’re older than me?” Again, you nod and he immediately ducks his head, bowing at you briefly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” you uttered, waving it off. “I’m not too big on seniority. You can call me Y/N.”

He extends his hand towards you, and you shake it gently. “I’m Soonyoung, I think I should’ve start the conversation that way instead of, well, dumping it all at once.”

“It definitely kept me engaged in the conversation,” you reassured with a light chuckle. Before Soonyoung could utter another word, a guy approached your table, noticeably looking at Soonyoung before he glanced at you, with an nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N, but I have a class to get to,” he apologizes, eyebrows drawn together in guilt. “Can I have your number? So we can further discuss our plan of action?”

“Sure, let me write it down.” He handed you a binder, opening it on to an empty page where you wrote your number and name. You then asked, “What about we meet outside the library tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah, sure, that’s easier,” he agrees, “around eleven, is that alright?”

“Yeah, it’s cool with me, Soonyoung.”

His smile widened, and he stands from his seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You mirrored his smile, nodding. “You’ll see me tomorrow.”

“So… you just said yes?” You nodded, busy with blow drying your hair. You were meeting with Soonyoung again today, mainly to discuss of your game plan to when you’re expected to meet with his parents. Admittedly, you never really sat to think of the entire ordeal, you just agreed. Chungha, when hearing about your situation, couldn’t help but stare at you in bewilderment, especially at how nonchalant you seemed.

“Yeah.” Your eyes locked with your co-worker-slash-roommate through the mirror, her eyes blankly staring back at you as you blinked multiple times. “What?”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Hearing her statement, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a dry laugh escaping past your lips before you put the hair dryer down and turned to face her. But before you could get a word out, she continued. “You barely know the guy, and you agreed to be his fake girlfriend to lie to his parents, and then, what? Should I emphasize that you don’t now him?”

“His name is Soonyoung, and he goes to the university nearby,” you answered, feigning innocent as you smiled at Chungha.

“And?”

“That’s why I’m meeting him today,” you told her, “we’re supposed to talk about how we’re going to lay it all out for his parents—talk about he and I met, what our plans for the future—”

“And what are those plans, Y/N?”

You lifted your shoulders to shrug. “I’m just going with the flow.”

“Exactly, Y/N,” exclaimed Chungha. “You don’t “go with the flow”—” she air-quoted, and you roll your eyes again, “—you plans things, you’re organized, I don’t get why you’ve suddenly agreed to become some stranger’s fake girlfriend out of the blue.”

“Maybe it’s that, Chungha,” you stated calmly. “Maybe I’m tired of being organized, doing things according to plan. For once, something really interesting is happening in my life, and to be honest, I just don’t want to think of the consequences over agreeing to do this.

“I’ve met the guy, albeit briefly, but I met him, Chungha,” you informed, “my radar to be cautious wasn’t blinking bright red or ringing any alarms, and later today, will confirm that I don’t have anything to worry about.”

Your friend stared at you, processing what you had just let off your chest. She’s known you since you both started at your company—you trained together, you got through the same struggles together in the past year, admittedly, she knows you well enough to raise her own suspicions over this entire ordeal. She knows that you’ve been burnt out from work, and the mundane routine of going to work, then back home, with barely any time for yourself. Despite wanting to reel you back to normality, Chungha only sighed. “Just keep me updated, Y/N.”

“I will,” you uttered, a grateful smile sent to her.

There was a beat of silence before Chungha spoke up. “You said he goes to the university nearby?”

“Yeah.”

Another beat of silence. “I didn’t think you’d go for younger guys, Y/N.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Your arm lifted a third time, checking your wristwatch to see that it was forty minutes past eleven—past the meeting time with Soonyoung. You were seated in the cafe besides the library, the iced tea you had ordered long gone, the ice melting and the condensation creating a small puddle surrounding your glass. No texts, no calls, radio silence from Soonyoung, and as the minutes ticked by, you’d begin to think that Chungha was right.

Maybe agreeing to something as out of the blue as a fake girlfriend proposal wasn’t the best idea. Maybe you should’ve just stuck to what had been planned. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to the library, that wasn’t planned. You were bored at home, and needed fresh air, so you walked around, stumbled upon the university library and well, that’s that.

Heaving a sigh, you stood from your seat and pulled the strap of your bag over your shoulder. However, as you were pushing the chair back into the table, quick footsteps approached your table and an out-of-breath Soonyoung, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Y/N, I’m so sorry!”

“Are you okay?” Brows furrowed together in worry, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he bent over to regain his breath.

“Y-yeah,” he heaved. “I had a—”

“Soonyoung, sit.” Obediently, he pulled the chair and sat, leaning back into the chair and inhaled deep breaths. You stayed quiet as he regained his composure. “I’ll get you water.” Without sparing him a glance, you headed towards the door of the café, but Soonyoung took ahold of your arm, stopping you mid-step.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Y/N.” The sincerity behind his eyes was similar to what you saw in him yesterday, the glimmer that made you agree to the proposal he had for you. Without uttering a word, you only sent a small smile, pushing his hand from your arm. You enter the café, buying him a bottle of water and returned, placing the bottle in front of him.

“I’m guessing you had a last-minute thing to do?” You asked, playing with your assumptions from how he was out of breath and ran from the opposite direction of the main entryway of the library.

Downing half the bottle, he nodded. “I thought it was going to be a brief meeting for a group presentation, but apparently they began talking about other classes, and I lost track of time. And before I knew it—” He paused, finding you staring at him, intently listening. “—I’m sorry, I have no excuses, I should’ve told you I’d be late instead of making you wait here without any info, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Soonyoung… for owning up to your mistake,” you uttered, notably shocked by his statement.

“Let me pay for your drink, Y/N, or I can buy you lunch?”

“It’s fine, Soonyoung, seriously.” You waved off with a chuckle, finally letting the tension disappear. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Eager, aren’t we?” He teased, earning an eyebrow raise from you. “Sorry… uhm, yeah. My parents are quite chill, nothing too traditional—they usually like to make sure I’m dating someone that is capable of getting along with others…”

“The bars are quite high, huh?” You joked, the both of you laughing.

“I think my mom is the one that possibly doesn’t believe I have a girlfriend, that’s why she wants to see for herself,” he explains. “I’m the youngest, and even though you might think that would be plausible reason for my mom to not want me having a girlfriend, she’s different. She believes being in the early twenties is the perfect age to get, uhm… married.”

“But we’re not getting married, right?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course not, we’re not actually dating either.” You nodded in agreement, laughing with him. “But showing my mom that I have a girlfriend will get her to lay off me for a bit, and I won’t have to expect any brunches with potential in-laws anytime soon after tomorrow.”

“I see,” you mumbled, nodding, letting the information process for a bit. “But, by showing me, wouldn’t she be asking about us? Our plans and everything. I mean, you did say she thinks you should be marrying at this age, no?”

“That is true,” he realized, “but I’m sure if we establish that the relationship is still quite new and we’re still playing it safe not to take a life-long commitment just yet, she might understand.”

You let the idea marinate briefly in your head. What you told Chungha was true, you were tired of the mundane routine you’ve had all this time, it’s put you in a rut that you’ve always struggled to get out off. Maybe this was the world’s way of saying: “hey do something so your life isn’t just a monotone routine of work and sleep”.

It’s not like being in a fake relationship with Soonyoung would be long-term either, you’re sure that after the brunch with his parents, that the two of you would meet-up to keep the lie up for a while, before eventually parting ways and he’ll have to deal with whatever future in-law brunches because he’d have to break it to his mother that the two of you have broken up.

You’d like to think of it as doing it for the plot, your year was getting boring and it’s already past the third quarter.

With a sigh, you leaned forward, placing your clasped hands on the table, locking eyes with Soonyoung. “Alright, let’s set the ground rules and how we’re going to do this.”

Maybe in another life, you were an actress because how did you even get through the brunch without sparking any suspicion?

It started off rusty. You and Soonyoung had thought up the whole backstory of how you two met—your route to work fell into his routine, where you both met at a coffee shop, and he had accidentally spilled coffee onto your white shirt one day and profusely apologized, insisting he should pay the laundry bill to which you allowed it. It was a cute story, 50% inspired by Chungha’s last failed situationship, but it helped make your “love story” seem more real than what happened in real life. You obviously couldn’t tell his mom that her son just sat by your table and asked you to be his fake girlfriend.

You took into account the backstory, how many dates you’ve gone on now and how long you’ve been dating, but you forgot your own self. You forgot to discuss whether or not you’ll be faking your identity—saying that you were working in one of the top 3 consulting firms in the country, or if you were actually older than Soonyoung—you weren’t sure how his mom would react to her son dating an older woman.

So you played yourself. You told Mrs. Kwon where you worked, your day-to-day and how you were able to juggle meeting with her son, in the midst of your schedule. Conflicting emotions arose during the brunch, and the fear that you never acknowledged came into fruition—Mrs. Kwon was sweet, and she liked you. Conversation with the elder woman flowed smoothly, her crescent eyes and the smile that seemed stuck on her face the moment she saw you enter the country club, until the moment she wrapped her arms around you, uttering the words, “I hope we can meet again soon!”

As the afternoon had sunk in, it wasn’t just your interaction with Mrs. Kwon that drove you to silence, it was Soonyoung as well.

If you thought you were a great actress, then he had already secured his Oscar trophy with his performance.

“How was it?” Chungha had asked immediately when you entered the door of your apartment. Her excitement dimmed to stun and morphed to concern upon noticing your dazed face. “Hey… Y/N? You okay?”

You returned to reality when she snapped her fingers in front of your face, blinking your eyes repeatedly as you regained composure. “What did you say?”

“I asked how your date was? Or, “fake date”,” she asked again, using her fingers to quote. “Did his parents buy it?”

“Yeah… they did,” you uttered, voice trailing, “but…”

“But…?”

“I think I bought it, too.”

Her brows knitted together. “What?”

You shook your head, your fingers aggressively running through your hair as you exhaled a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, he just– we were in the middle of brunch, and his mom asked him what made him decide to give us a chance, and Soonyoung just– he just—“ You couldn’t process what had happened into words, articulating what you felt at that moment felt so complex—something you hadn’t felt in a while, maybe even ever. You can’t recall the last time someone made you feel this… valued.

“He just, what, Y/N?”

Your mind drifted to that moment, when it felt like everything between you and Soonyoung were real… The warm rays of the sun shining through the vines, tracing the outlines of his face, the light hitting his eyes just right to accentuate the golden flakes in his eyes. The way his lips moved as he articulate every single word, with a sense of sincerity that seemed to be too genuine to be said just for a fake relationship.

“Even though it feels like we’ve just met… I don’t know, I just felt that you would be the one. I mean, it feels like you’re the only one patient enough to deal with my spontaneous ideas and out-of-this-world proposals, that I feel whatever we might face during this… that it would be all worth it.”

His words echoed, the image of his honey-dripping eyes looking back at yours, unbeknownst to his mother’s eyes but your hands intertwined beneath the table, his thumb rubbing gentle circles as his cheeks puffed up in a sweet, innocent smile, as if the words were uttered were true and real—that what you two had was real.

“Y/N, for the love of God, please don’t leave me hanging—” Before Chungha could finish her plea of desperation, your phone vibrated between the two of you, Soonyoung’s name and face flashing on the screen, awaiting to be answered.

“Give me a second, yeah?” You rushed out, without waiting for Chungha to respond and climbed off your bed, leaving your best friend to stare at you with sorrow. You escaped to the hallway outside your apartment, swiping the screen and pressing your phone to your ear. “Hello, Soon?”

“Hey, sorry, I know I just dropped you off, but I’m downstairs because I bought something to say thank you for your help today,” Soonyoung informed, causing you to straighten your back, surprised he returned and with a gift.

“Oh, sure- uh, give me a second and I’ll be down.” You hung up, rushing back into your apartment to put on a jacket, ignoring Chungha’s questions of where you’re going and who called, before you were out the door and going down the elevator. Soonyoung was seated in the lobby, a box on his lap as he watched the elevator number go down before stopping, opening and revealing you with a soft smile and bright eyes. He mirrored your smile, standing and approaching you, extending his arms to pass the box to you.

“It was kinda a last minute thing, I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciated your help today,” he uttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I hope you like custard-filled donuts.”

You tried suppressing the grin on your face, your cheeks warming at the sight of little note he wrote on top of the box. ‘Thank you for being a real one and playing my fake girlfriend <3’. “It was really not hassle, Soonyoung. I did have fun.” You sat down, patting gently on the spot besides you and he sat besides you. You opened the box, revealing the freshly baked donuts, offering him one which he smiled gratefully before picking up one and taking a bite. You followed en-suite.

“Did she believe it?”

Soonyoung glanced towards you, custard on the corner of his lips that made you stifle a laugh. “Yeah, she did,” he spoke, wanting to answer but still in the middle chewing as he tried to speak without opening his mouth as wide. Your chuckle shook your shoulders, before reaching out to wipe the custard at his lips with your thumb. You pretended to not notice the red that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide how flustered may have looked, only causing you to smile wider. Payback for what you pulled earlier, you couldn’t help but think.

“By the way, Y/N…” You faced him, finding his features strewn with worry—brows etched, a crease created between them as his eyes looked back at you in guilt. “I know we talked about it keeping the boundaries, as well making it vague, and avoid being too sentimental, but I got caught in the moment and… and I was just so grateful that you would take up my offer that I didn’t know what came over me, you looked really pretty, too, and you smelled nice- I mean, wait that was a bit out of pock—“

Your lips pressed against his shut him up immediately. For a moment, he was taken aback, before he melted into the kiss with you.

“I like you, too, Soonyoung,” you whispered once you pulled away. A child-like shine sparkled in his eyes upon hearing your confession, something bubbling in his chest that caused a bright smile to break out, his cheeks seemingly fluffier than before.

“So, we can keep doing this? For real this time?” You nodded, your cheeks flushed as you came to the sudden realization of something, chuckling to yourself. Soonyoung cocked his head to the side, inquiring, “What’s funny?”

“I just…” You sighed happily. “I just never expected myself to fall for a younger guy…” You bumped your shoulder with his, adding, “You’re the only exception.”

He threw his head back in a hearty laugh, smiling back at you. “Well, I’m honored to be the one and only, Y/N.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 23

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You can barely eat. You’re strung up in shock and shame, your stomach mulching as your nerves curdle. You only really have the toast, unable to stomach the omelet or hash that came with it. No one else seems discouraged by the day’s events.

As you wait for the cue to leave, Bucky signals to the server; a different one than before. They return with a container that Bucky offers to you. You take it, at first confused, then scrape your leftovers into it. You thank him as you close up the lid and rest it in your lap.

Finally, Steve pays the bill and you’re free to stand up. The jacket hangs heavily from your shoulders as you follow behind them through the restaurant. You watch your feet, too afraid to face the other diners. Are they judging you? Was it one of them who said something to the server?

You emerge into the sunlight and Steve’s voice buzzes in your ears. Most of the conversation at the table was nothing more than garbling to you. You just can’t make sense of any of this. You don’t know how but you know everything is going to change and that’s scary. You’ve only ever been with your mom. Now, he’s attached to her. Maybe, it means you’ll have to go.

“Over there...” Steve points, “nice spot.”

You follow the length of his arm to the little patch of grass on the other side of the lot. There’s a tree and a large stone surrounded by colourful petals. It’s a cute little space with a picnic table on the green blades.

“Just a few pictures,” Steve takes out his phone and hands it to Bucky, “this is a day we don’t wanna forget, huh, honey?”

Your mom grabs onto Steve’s hand and he almost winces. He squeezes and brings her with him across the lined tarmac. You shuffle behind them as Bucky holds the phone awkwardly. You cross the expanse of the lot and Steve brings your mother beside him to pose for a picture. You suppose they would need wedding photos even if it’s all a bit odd.

Bucky aims the lens and you hear the shuttering noise of the frames. Your mom is smiling again. It’s such a strange sight. You hug your leftovers and watch silently.

“How about we get both my girls in here?” Steve beckons to you, “a family picture.”

You blanch and furrow your brow. You look one way then the other and shrug. Bucky offers to take the leftovers, balancing it in one hand as he keeps the phone in his other. You reluctantly trod across the grass.

As you near, another waft of Steve’s cologne tickles your nose. You look down and slowly slip off his jacket and offer it up. He takes it and swiftly pulls it back on.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says and pulls you against his side, your mother against his other, his arms spread wide around you both. “Say cheese.”

You face the camera and you know the first picture is bad. You must look startled. Your vision comes into focus and you see Bucky and the phone. You make yourself smile as Steve’s hand slides down your arm and instead grips your side, just where it’s smallest.

You stand for a few more as his fingertips curl into your flesh. Finally, he’s happy with it and Bucky drops his arm. Steve drags his hand away, brushing over your skirt in a way that makes you quiver. His touch leaves a hot tingling along your side.

You take your food back from Bucky and he hands the phone to Steve. He gives you a long look after.

“You wanna ride back with me?” He asks.

You nod. You just want to go home.

“Stevie,” your mom’s hand shakes as she latches onto Steve’s arm, “how about we... drive around for a while?”

“Uh, sure,” he answers, “sounds good. You okay with getting her home?”

“Yep,” Bucky frowns, as if annoyed at the redundant question. “I think I can handle it.”

“Don’t give him a hard time,” your mom snips at you. “Just go home.”

“Come on,” Bucky’s already turning away, “let the newlyweds enjoy their marital bliss.”

You nod and quickly spin to follow him. You almost admire his indifference to it all. The way he dismisses them both. It does make you wonder though, if he’s friends with Steve, why does he seem so agitated? Maybe he’s just as confused as you.

You go to his car and he opens the door for you. You thank him as you get in. It’s a nice gesture.

You stare through the windshield as he gets in. He’s quiet as the music comes back on. He leaves it and backs out of the spot. He drives by your mom and her husband. Your parents? Your eyes meet Steve’s as he stares, his hand running down his lapel. He doesn’t look as happy any more.

You shrink back into the seat, keeping the container just off your bare legs. When you get home, you’re throwing this dress out. You doubt you’ll ever have a reason to wear it again.

🏠

Bucky drops you off at the house. Walking up, knowing it's empty, you feel eerie. Everything is out of sorts. The world has tilted on its axis overnight.

You put your leftovers in the fridge and change, stuffing the dress into the bottom of the bin. You wander through the small house. You don't know what to do with yourself. Without your mom to tell you what to do, or what you're doing wrong, you're listless.

Finally, you sit down with your table and notebook, trying to center your energy on a page. As you touch the pencil to the paper, the tip snaps. You sigh and place the pencil down in the middle crease. You stretch your fingers and close them.

You just can't be still. You sharpen the pencil and tuck it into the book, hugging it under your arm. You put your shoes in and head off without destination. You just can't be in that house alone. Not right now.

You're uneasy at first as you stroll through the streets. You watch over your shoulder for the HOA as you go around corners. You come to the little bridge behind the house with the archway wrapped in ivy.

You stop at the peak of the bridge and bend back the cover of your sketchbook. You take the pencil and eye the small pond beneath. You mimic the ripples in graphite, etching on the moss and the leaves floating, and a few tadpoles beneath the surface. You don't often do still lifes, you never much leave your room, but it's calming to be out in the world and have a focal point.

A pebble drops into the water with a plop, sending an echo of circles through it. You step back, barely saving your book from slipping over the edge. You turn to face the figure at the end of the bridge. It's a boy. Well, he's probably your age so... a man?

He's strangely familiar. Reddish brown hair, warm dark eyes, and a crooked grin. You nearly gasp as he says your name like a question.

"How..." you close up your book and back up.

"Hey, I didn't know you were still around."

"Who?"

"Peter," he smiles, "how's your grandma?"

"My..." you shake your head. "She's dead."

"I mowed her lawn?" He offers as your confusion remains sewn into your forehead.

"Oh."

"You always had your colouring books."

"Yeah," you sniff. "Am I in your way?" You flatten yourself against the railing.

"Nope," he comes up the bridge, "so... you draw?"

"Uh, yeah," you glance towards the water.

"Nice, I'm more into photography," he raises hisbhand and shows a camera in his hand, "was coming to try to catch the frog that hangs out. You seen him?"

"Mm, no," you murmur, "I should go."

"I don't mind," he says, "if you stick around."

You hesitate, the bridge creaking under your feet. You think of the empty house, of the morning wedding and the restaurant. You're in no hurry to go back to any of it. You nod and turn around, "okay." You ppen your sketch book as he comes up beside you, a foot away as he fiddles with his camera.

"Living with my Aunt May now so... maybe we'll see each other around," he says as he switches the lens, "it won't feel so lonely around here.”

[goodeapple]

you got any of that good shit with Cregan Stark ?

oh, i thought ya'll would never ask

.

.

.

“it’s nothing, really husband.” ysilla giggles, and while it’s infuriatingly cute and the most welcome sound he’s heard all night, the matching smirk her stepfather dons begins to stir his blood. 

“it seems you’ve married a puppy, little one.”

cregan doesn’t quite care for the way the rogue prince’s eyes hang on his stepdaughter. the way they seem to caress her lips and the arch of her brow. how they drink in the glow of her skin and the sweep of her curls. and, most heinously, how they gaze on the swell of her tits and the bloom of her backside. 

he knows the targaryens blend blood and desire without shame from the gods but after tonight, ysilla is no longer just a targaryen. she’s a stark too, and starks protect their own. 

“puppies have been known to guard what is theirs with fierceness that shouldn’t be rivaled. And their teeth aren't just for looks, good father.” cregan picks his words carefully, playing the game his uncle had told him is so important down here. he usually wouldn’t layer a threat so subtly- he has no time for fancy words, his blade and his bluntness enough to get his point across. but stabbing his wife’s stepfather isn’t an approved wedding gift, so he bites his tongue until he tastes metal. 

ysilla blinks at him, her eyebrows raising in surprise, but the smile pulling at her mouth is impressed. she curls around his arm, tucking herself into his side and he calms almost immediately. he wants to groan- he’s already wrapped around his wife's little finger. 

daemon regards him with apathetic eyes, his only retort to take a sip from his goblet before departing with a lingering hmmm. the festivities are in full swing, northmen and southerners mingling without long learned prejudices, barrels and barrels of ale doing wonders for their moods.

“well that was fun.” ysilla laughs, her demureness fading away with every cup she drains. her cheeks are rosy, from rouge and wine, and cregan can’t stop himself from wondering if she flushes all over when she’s happy, when she’s excited. the glaze over her eyes turns the orbs into glossy amethyst stones, bejeweled and sparkling, hypnotizing to any who stare too deep.

“you know… all of my maids warned me of the brutish tendencies of north wolves,” ysilla’s fingertips tickle his skin as she traces fine lines over the scars on his forearm. she trails upwards, gliding up the swell of his bicep and across his shoulder before coming to rest at the column of his neck. cregan swallows, feeling like a rabbit in a trap, the princess a wolf creeping closer. his pulse jumps and she must feel it, as her thumb starts to stroke the bob of his throat. 

“how I should be prepared to discover bruises on my hips… my thighs… my breasts. how I might walk with a limp depending on his…” ysilla's focus draws to the front of his breeches, her small pink tongue darting out to moisten her mouth. cregan feels a growl start to rumble in his chest. 

“size.” 

all is quiet between the newlyweds, the raucous sound of both of their families filling dragonstone to the brim. 

“i thought you didn’t want a bedding ceremony.” cregan finally says tersely. ysilla’s forehead crinkles, her head tilting, regarding him with confusion.

“i don’t.”

“well, if you don’t want me to drag you to the nearest chamber and prove to you how much of a brute your new husband can be,” he clasps her wandering hand in his, squeezing gently before lacing their fingers together. “i beg of you to stop driving me fucking mad with your touch.” 

ysilla smiles and he’s seen shadowcats with duller teeth. 

“all I’ve wanted since I saw you this morning is to slip into your lap and ride you like a wild horse. and to admire exactly what I get to spend the rest of my life having fill me up every night.”

.

.

.

btw, i read this ask like this

[alpydk]

Confessions

You asked for a sequel to Consequences so here I bring it.

Part 1 - Tav slept with Mizora, Gale left as we all know. Hate sex ensues at the epilogue party. That's it. Part 2 - They have another encounter - sex ensues. That's it.

Word Count - 3950 words CW - Angst/Smut - Happy ending ^^

The wedding invitation lay on the table, ivory parchment with a cherry red embossed trimming.

Karlach and Shadowheart... Baldur’s Gate... Elient...

It had been six months since the party where they had last met up, where Tav had last seen and spoke with Gale. She gritted her teeth at the memory, one of silver cups splayed in front of her, of her braid pulled taut behind her as he controlled her climax with a sense of dominance she had never seen before. “Now, my dear Tav. Say please.” She smirked to herself at the image of him behind her, his cock pressed against her, his eyes darkened with desire and anger. They had lain on that table for some time afterwards, their hearts beating in unison, an unspoken apology between them which remained unspoken. And now would soon come a wedding, an event that always came with drama of some sort.

Tav picked up the nearby quill, the decision of whether to attend or not posed at her fingertips. To see him again or not after what had last happened...

---

“Leaving so soon?” Gale felt the shift of Tav’s weight from next to him, her ebony braid dragging across his tunic before he had the chance to realise what was happening.

She stood, pulling her scarlet dress down to cover her legs more modestly than where it had been hoisted up to. “It’s getting early, and I’m meant to be back in the city before lunch.”

The warmth he’d known for only a short while had again gone, replaced with the icy walls and defensiveness they’d started the party with. Despite the admittance of why she’d ran to Mizora and now the understanding of where each of them stood, it was clear one night of drunken, angry sex upon an oak table wouldn’t be enough to bury the hatred that had been spat between them with such venom and loathing.

He let out an exasperated huff of annoyance. Once again pushed aside, being punished by the one he supposedly loved. Maybe at this point he was the problem, constantly finding women to fill a void left within. He was certain there was some psychological aspect in play forcing him to go for women similar to his own strong-willed mother, and the concept sickened him, or possibly it was that of the bottle of wine which flowed throughout his system. “Gods forbid something be more important...” he muttered under his breath. Did he even want to give what they had a chance? Was it worth the pain, the heartache?

Tav selectively ignored his words, her body already bristling, a slight hangover drifting in with the taunting sunrise. How could she have been so reckless, so desperate to have him? She shuddered at the thought. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Gale,” she said, collecting her black lingerie from under the table.

He could see the curve of her arse as she bent over, his body betraying his mind in one fell swoop, and he took the chance of her back being turned to him to sit up and hastily tie the drawstrings on his trousers. A little tighter than normal, he remarked internally, making sure not to make the same mistake as some hours before. “You don’t think we should perhaps discuss-”

She cut him off before the words could even be produced from his wine-tinged lips. “A drunken mistake made by two lonely and desperate people. No different than it was at Moonrise.”

---

They didn’t speak after she had said those words, the harshness of them still causing her to hang her head in shame even now. That night at Moonrise had meant everything to her at one point, how they had admitted their love to one another, how he had conjured the soft bedsheets that smelt of lavender before worshipping her for hours in more ways than she could ever have dreamt of. Yet six months ago she was done, tired of their arguments, tired of Mystra and Mizora, but most of all, tired of him. She had to say it, the worst thing she could ever come up with, just to give them both finally a chance of moving on. 

Her heart had broken behind her built up walls. She would not show him how guilty or hurt she was by all that had transpired. She’d simply brushed herself down and walked away from the campsite, her braid hanging down behind the scarlet dress she’d never wear again.

Since that night she had dated others, worked her way through numerous men and women looking for that same spark that ignited the flames within her, causing them to burn so brightly. She’s tried being submissive with a few, allowing them to order her around, praise her, punish her if that’s what they desired, but none came close to how he had been that night with her. The sensation lived under her skin. It swelled with the memories of him: his dark eyes, firm hands gripping her hips, a voice that controlled her very essence.

As she glanced at the invitation, she let out a deep breath and stretched out her back. She knew she would have to be there, two of her closest friends finally tying the knot, Karlach’s infernal engine fixed after almost a year in Avernus battling for her life. Tav also knew though that he would be there too, dressed in his finest, his heart once again stitched back together after the damage she had done. Black ink flowed onto the parchment, soaking through a tad before she removed the quill. The date was set, the confirmation given, the anxiety building with the thoughts of what was left of the man she’d once loved.

---

The sun was slowly setting over the small chapel on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate. It was a modest church, large enough for a small party of friends and family, far enough away from the city that the sound of hustle and bustle could not reach it. Its white wooden doors lay open, welcoming a soon to be married couple and their guests, and with it came a light wind blowing autumn leaves into the aisle.

Gale sat alone inside on a pew. He’d been the first to arrive, and it seemed only suitable to check over the readings for the ceremony: selected poems he knew all too well. Admiring the red lilies and night orchids, which had been woven together, creating elaborate floral displays over the altar and around the confessionals, he couldn’t help but think. The colours complimented one another well, the crimson shades merging with the hints of purple. His mind drifted back to his old, tattered robes, the cherry red shirt that often lay with them in the corner of his tent as the sun rose during their travels. Nights devoted to making her smile.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving his attention to his suit. He’d gone away from purples long ago, Mystra’s influence tainting the colour with reminders of their weave touched relationship and for this occasion he had decided that simple was best. The black waistcoat he had chosen showed the physique he had been working on the last few months, his forearms toned and displayed from a navy shirt as he rolled the sleeves to a comfortable level.

He was already feeling the nerves, ones that he had tried to shift so many times in the last few weeks, and as his fingertips drifted to unbuttoning his collar, he knew it wasn’t likely to pass easily just by sitting and waiting for company. He rose from his seat, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension, and looked to the main doors of the chapel where moonlight was making its appearance. Soon the others would arrive, but now he needed to stretch his legs and enjoy the little peace that was available.

As the cool breeze blew through the waves of his hair, he spotted Tav walking up the quiet path towards him. Her head was faced away from his, her eyes drawn to the line of wildflowers that grew along the verge. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her dark hair hung down around her shoulders, silver beads placed in thin braids glistened as they caught light. Tav had kept her pattern of wearing red; this time, her short figure-hugging dress replaced with one that pinched her waist but flared out at the base. Her pale legs were still on display just as they’d been at the party and for a moment, he was dragged back to the memory of running his hands up those thighs as he’d done so many times before.

He turned his back on her, choosing instead to walk around the other side of the chapel, hoping that before she noticed him, others would arrive, and their interaction could be kept at a safe minimum. He would not make the same mistake as last time.

---

“And now we will hear a brief poetry reading from Gale.” Astarion made sure to emphasise just how brief it would be as he left his position at the altar. Despite it being over two hundred years since his position of magistrate, somehow Baldarian law still gave him the allowance to operate and, as such, he had found himself in the unfortunate position of officiating the wedding of his two old friends. He stepped aside, letting Gale taking charge, hearing the nervous heartbeat that beat so relentlessly.

There were few guests in attendance who weren’t already at the party six months previously, but something about standing before them all, speaking words of love and commitment, filled him with an emotion he wished would vanish. A part of him knew this should have been his day, where the poem read would instead have been vows spoken with devotion to the one he loved. If only they had simply talked to one another.

“Good evening, my dear friends. It’s been some time once again since we last gathered like this. It’s good to see you all.” His eyes passed briefly over Tav; the words meant more for her than anyone in sitting in the room. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Well-” A nervous breath caught him, but it was enough to help him focus his attention. “For this most splendorous of occasions, I have indeed prepared a short poem which I would like to present to our most beautiful of couples.”

Karlach and Shadowheart stood before him, their hands entwined, their eyes glued on one another. The world around them may not have existed as they gazed lovingly at one another, a way in which Gale himself had once looked at Tav. His smile at them briefly turned sad before he shifted the memory and moved on quickly to reading.

His eyes met Tav’s as she watched, words originally meant for her now spoken openly. He hoped she knew this was for her, how despite everything, despite the anger and the heartbreak, it was always for her.

She glanced away from him, a rogue tear escaping her, which she was quick to wipe away. His deep brown eyes glistened under the moonlight, and she wished things could be different between them. How they both wished all this could be different, how the longed-for apologies could be said between one another. How they wished they could find a way back to one another.

---

The ceremony ended, and Karlach and Shadowheart were eager to leave after accepting congratulations from everyone, a quick passing comment about seeing stars heard by a few at the exit to the chapel. Tav stood by the simple altar, rolling the petals of the lilies between her fingertips, lost in her own thoughts of the wedding and all that had occurred.

“A lovely evening, don’t you think?”

Gale’s tentative voice brought her back to reality, her hand quickly drawn from the flowers. Within the hallowed walls of the church, she did not want to fight as they had done the previous times, instead she kept herself quiet, hesitant, and watchful of his actions.

“Hm. It was. Your poetry was very...” She pondered over the words, trying to find something that would explain how much she enjoyed it, but not strong enough that he would see through to the emotions that had been sitting on her sleeve all evening. “...well written.”

He stepped closer to her, and he noticed the way her dress caught with the breeze from the open door, allowing him to catch sight of her inner thigh. “Well, it seemed an important occasion to put in a little more effort into rather than my previous dabbles with poetry.”

“I’m sure they both appreciated it.” Tav could feel as he grew closer to her, her eyes catching on the way he seemed leaner since their last meeting. His body seemed firmer, his trousers snugger upon his groin, the shirt hugging his upper arms in a way that made her want to bite her lower lip. She kept her composure. “You look really well, Gale.”

“I took some time after our last encounter to work on myself a little.”

“Well, it suits you.”

At the altar they stood facing one another, moonlight shining through the small windows, autumn leaves blown along the aisle. She looked up into his eyes, her heart beating in anticipation after what had occurred at the party. It felt as if something were in the air, a powerful force that could not be resisted drawing her to him each time they met, but this time, the anger was muted within the sacred walls.

Gale lifted his hand, brushing a lock of her ebony hair behind her ear, his touch soft and cautious, as if they were together at Moonrise once again and he was expecting rejection. “Tav...”

Just as last time she interrupted him, but this time not with venom filled words. Instead, she brought her lips to his, a resignation to the surrounding forces which bound their souls together. He responded in kind, a hand brought to her cheek and holding her steady, the other grasped to the fabric of her dress and pulling her hips towards his. He broke off the kiss, letting out a shaky breath, searching her eyes for the certainty that this was what she wanted.

She drew herself towards him again, an answer to his unspoken question, flushed lips on his in wanting, but when he did not return her kiss, she pulled back, a hint of rejection she did not wish to show lingering in her mind. “We both know how this is going to end,” she said, desire in her eyes.

“Precisely. We do.” Gale’s grasp on her hip loosened ever so slightly, the hand on her cheek moved lightly to her hair, his fingers curling between the locks. “We’ll share in each other’s bodies and as our souls return to their cages, we will part, just as we have before.”

“So, this is it? The end of everything?”

He looked to the braids in her hair, to how they twisted and turned just like that of the Weave he was so fond of. Everything in him screamed to let go of her, to walk away and never see her again, to find peace. But his heart whispered amongst the din. It ignored the arguments; it ignored the hateful comments they had shared; it ignored the lust. There were only the nights before Mizora, ones where he and Tav had lain simply together, her hand on his chest, their hearts beating together in sync. There had been unsaid acts of love before and after they’d even admitted their feelings, the day where she had held him close after Elminster had told him of his doomed fate, the night where they had simply cried together after Bhaal had killed her and she’d been born anew. How had so many moments vanished with that one mistake? How had so much hate been born from what was once unbound love?

“Gale, tell me. Is this it? If it is, I’ll accept.” Tav’s words were honest, the exhaustion she had felt six months ago bursting through. She didn’t want to fight anymore; she had no fight left in her. All she wanted was to move on, to know he could move on.

His gaze went from the braids to her eyes, moistened, reflecting the moonlight. The whisper grew into a shout that he could no longer ignore. It couldn’t end this way. They found one another again, a tenderness not shared in so long as hands moved from tight clasping to gentle strokes, as passionate kisses were replaced with delicate exploration. He found himself pushing her backwards, the confessional booth the only place of any privacy within the chapel. She was pushed up against the white door of it, the scarlet lilies brushing over her shoulder as she nudged open the door with the base of her heel.

There was little room and even less light behind the closed door, and Tav was quick to shift Gale onto the small bench that met them. “Forgive me, father...”

“Oh, none of that, my love. We do not plan to draw the eyes of any deities in here.”

She pressed herself onto him, feeling the growing bulge under his trousers, grinding her hips into him, allowing her own body to react with need. “Not much room in here.”

Gale smirked. He knew exactly what she spoke of as he felt the ache of his erection pushing on the tight fabric, but for once last time he play with her. “Well, there’d be more room if you hadn’t gained weight.”

“Prick.” Tav scowled, before slipping her tongue into his mouth, finding his and sucking it with wanton desire.

He reacted in kind, his hands moving up under her legs and positioning her straddled across his lap. As she arched herself into him, rubbing herself down against him, she released the slightest of moans and he could feel the way she quivered with each rock of her hips. He brought a hand further up her thigh, dipping under the cloth of her skirt and tracing the lace of her underwear.

A soft mewl told him how heated she was already, how she chased her climax so readily upon his lap. His fingers danced above the fabric, tracing a line down her cunt, feeling as she leaned into his hand instinctively. He released her mouth from his, letting her bury her head into the crook of his neck, heated breaths poured onto his skin. “You’re so eager, as always.”

“Only with you... Only ever with you,” she gasped, feeling as his fingertips slipped onto her naked flesh, languid lines becoming rhythmic circles where she needed them most. Her heart raced, her eyes closed, and all she could do was savour the moments as her wants and needs became a blessed reality. “Gods, Gale...”

A part of him was tempted to tease her as he had last time, a consequence of all she had done, but as she whimpered into him, his name on her desperate lips, all he wanted was more of her, to give to her again as he had done so long ago, to worship her, to love her. He increased his pace, listening as whimpers became moans, as she pulled her head back and bucked herself shamelessly into his hand.

She felt herself nearing her edge, felt the familiar swelling almost at breaking point, the knowledge that it was him doing this to her spurring her on and making it impossible to resist any longer. “Gale...” she gasped through parted lips. Looking down at him in the low-lit confession booth was all it took for the thin strand of control to snap, her orgasm hitting hard and fast, her muscles tensing and clenching. His hand was removed, but with that, she found herself perched again over his lap, his trousers appearing visibly uncomfortable as she lowered herself onto them, trying to ground herself as the world spun around her.  

Gale sighed as she sat atop him, her breath slowly returning to normal. He was remaining patient, wanting each second to span an eternity should it all come crashing down again around them. It wasn’t long though before her hands found the rim of his trousers, tugging at them, and letting her mouth return to his. Very little time was spent taunting with what he had that she wanted more of, his trousers and underwear pulled down, hers left abandoned around one ankle and her dress hoisted up over his lap as she straddled him once again.

Through gritted teeth, he spoke as she hovered above him. “I have something to confess.”

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Tav purred, lowering herself onto him, sighing as her body adjusted to his size within her. She’d never forgotten how good he felt, never found anything that compared to him.

He breathed through the relaxed roll of her hips, but noted the way her arousal was building quicker with each thrust into her. “Maybe... but now or never...”

His words were falling on death ears as her hands explored the sides of his abdomen, more toned than six months ago, less to grip, but the sight made her wish she had the composure to remove his waistcoat and shirt, to see what lay beneath, teasing her. She wanted to reply, but words were escaping her, his rhythm, his angle, the forearm that held her close as she arched her body into him, wanting more of him, needing more.

A firm hand gripped her hip, preventing her from writhing, allowing him to plunge into her more firmly, to let him feel every needed bit of her. “I love you, Tav...”

The words hit her hard, the confession that he still loved her even after everything making her heartbeat quicken, her climax upon her in an instance.

He felt as she tightened around him, her walls contracting, putting pressure on him. His movements became more demanding, more focused as he sought his own release. Whispered words met his ears, words of love and care, confessions of her own singing out through satisfied breaths. His hips snapped into her, the bench beneath and her above giving little room for him to leave her fully, just a constant pressure wrapped around him, bringing him to his precipice.

The more he rutted into her, the more she began to whine, wave after wave of pleasure, an orgasm ending only to lead into another as one of his hands once again found her sensitive bundle of nerves. “I love you... I love you...” she screamed out from the confines of the enclosed stall.

Those words, the admission of truth were all it took. Gale gripped her closely, his body jerking as he spilled himself into her. Her neck was on his lips in seconds, the salted taste of her sweat upon his tongue welcome as aftershocks caused him to convulse into her further. With each one came another gasped moan, soon growing quieter and quieter as both relaxed into one another’s gentle embrace.

They held each other for some time in the darkened shadows of the confessional, as moonlight became the lazy rise of a sun within the chapel. They had shared how they both felt, forgiven each other without spoken apologies, shared their love just as they had once done. For now, all they had was this one night, one under stars and shadows of a stall, amongst scarlet lilies and dark purple night orchids. Talking could come later.

[amywritesthings]

I love the Hallo-sleepover idea! Can I request "my friend abandoned me at this halloween party and I don't know anyone. But you look as miserable as I feel" at a bonfire with Levi (:

hallo-sleepover '24!

of course!! this was the most requested prompt in 5 separate asks, so of course i wanted to present you a little levi on halloween day. xo hope you enjoy!

homemade.

pairing: levi ackerman x reader word count: 1.2k tags: modern au, adult language, halloween parties, first meet, levi ackerman as ghostface, reader as bride of frankenstein, mention of annie as your friend credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

read on ao3.

Everyone’s too loud. The Halloween music keeps repeating.

Not even swirling the bright orange plastic cup in your hand can salvage the separation of pineapple and white rum.

At least the warm crackle of the open fire pit in the backyard feels nice.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come to this Halloween party with Annie — you knew she was going to see one solo cup and run for the pong table to demolish the competition — but you’d worked tirelessly on your costume this year.

Not that you had anywhere to go to show it off — cons got too expensive this year, work days blurred into nights, and before you knew it the date of October 31 was sitting impatiently on your doorstep. 

Waiting on your front porch handing out candy to little ones wasn’t a bad idea.

Trick or Treaters are cute.

(Except you can’t imagine any of the kiddos willingly taking a Snickers bar from the hands of a screen-accurate rendition of the Bride of Frankenstein.)

So you'd get dressed up, fill a pumpkin bucket, and hang out for the night, right?

Wrong.

That plan wasn’t acceptable to your friend, Annie Leonhart.

The moment she arrived at your doorstep in full costume, Annie acted as if staying home was a cardinal sin.

“You didn’t have a plan for this?” Annie asked incredulously. “Are you joking, dude? Come on. This costume is sick.”

Before you stood an elaborate (see: terrifying) rendition of Lady Death: Annie’s blue eyes were sunken in by copious black eyeshadow, her lips cut into the illusion of teeth under a terrifying black veil obscuring most of her face. On her body was what looked to be a dyed thrift store wedding dress, dark as the night sky above.

She gestures to your wrapped mummified dress and large cylindrical white-and-gray wig — all hand-sewn, all homemade — with equally blackened fingertips, gooey with fake blood.

“What?” you murmur, looking down at your dress like something has gone astray.

“What?!” she repeats with a snort. “Oh, no. You’re not wasting this on sitting on a porch. C’mon, we’re going to Reiner’s thing.”

“Annie,” you groan, giving her a pleading look. “You know I hate parties.”

“Yeah? And I hate idiots who waste good costumes,” she retorts, grabbing your hand with hers to fly into your house. “What do you need? Grab your keys and phone, we’re going.”

(Yeah, you’re used to her bulldozing by now.)

It’s what brought you here — stuck at a bonfire, waiting for an appropriate time to ditch and call a Lyft back to your house.

Annie’s no doubt in the semifinals of the competition, so you can’t imagine you’ll see her for the rest of the night.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, you’ll just wait another ten and—

A flash of black clothes shuffles past you to flop unceremoniously into a lawn chair. With a grunt, their legs extend towards the bonfire, the tip of their boots tapping the brick surrounding the pit. 

Slumping into the chair, you recognize the costume right away: it isn’t a traditional Ghostface given the dark denim jeans and the black henley shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but the elongated white and black ghoulish mask is unmistakable.

Unable to help yourself, you watch as the fire illuminates the veins in their forearms. His gloved hand palms the entire mask and rips it off of his face, causing your whole body to have a hot flash.

Oh.

Oh, no.

The Ghostface at the party is hot.

Immediately his bluish-gray eyes find you when he sits back in his chair once more. The black fringe of his hair clings to his forehead like the mask had been suffocating him to a sweat, complimenting his high cheekbones. 

Lips parted, you note the way he gives your costume a once over before speaking in the most rumbled, honey silk voice.

“Bride of Frank, right?”

Blinking twice, you continue to stare. When a few beats of silence pass, the stranger’s chin drops closer to his chest, brow expectant with an arch.

“You’re looking at me like I missed a reboot this year.”

Wait.

He’s talking to you.

Clearing your throat, you sit up taller and absently reach for your tall wig to make sure it’s in place. 

“No, you’re right. The Bride from the 1935 film.” 

You try to smile, though it gets lost somewhere in your anxiety. 

“And you’re Ghostface, right? From the movie Scream?”

The stranger nods. 

“Sort of. Found a mask half-off at the store, but I wasn’t wearing a damn nightgown.”

“The black clothes still fit the look,” you try to reassure, and he snorts.

“You’re far more forgiving than the Michael Myers I came here with,” he states, “but that friend abandoned my ass at this Halloween party, and I don’t know anyone else here, so.”

Crossing his legs by the ankles and his arms over his chest, he continues to observe your costume. From the flicker of the fire, his expression almost seems appreciative of your work.

“You did a damn good job,” he adds, “which is a shame, because you look as miserable as I feel.”

The surprise praise causes your face to heat up.

“I wouldn’t say miserable.”

“Bored?”

“Oh, definitely bored.”

He snorts. “Yeah, me too. I hate this shit.”

“Parties?”

“Halloween parties,” the stranger clarifies. “If everyone showed up to this shit dressed as elaborately as you, then I’d probably eat my own words.” He tosses a thumb back to the house. “I can’t tell you how many goddamn half-baked Jokers there are in that house.”

Somewhere in the midst of his rant is another compliment.

Toying with one of the ends of the mummified dress you wear, you find yourself shrugging a shoulder. “Not everyone has busybody time like me to make a costume, to be fair.”

“Wait.” He sits up more, sitting the Ghostface mask on his lap. “You made that?”

When you nod, you feel your body match the bonfire’s temperature. Annie gave you compliments by the plenty, but that was Annie. Everyone else at this party had been too busy getting drunk or too occupied to notice.

But he did.

“How’d you do it?” he asks with what seems to be genuine curiosity, though you wave it off.

“It’s boring.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, it really is,” you state, but the stranger leans closer with intrigue. You can’t move away, too mesmerized by how damn gorgeous he is. “And knowing me, I could ramble on for hours, so—”

“Hey, I have time.”

The man clears his throat and holds up the Ghostface mask as if it’ll somehow convince you.

“Might as well make the most of this damn thing while we’re stuck here, right? If anything, you’d be saving me from another goddamn Scary Movie reference inside, so you're doing me a favor by rambling for hours.”

The mention brings a slow and relaxed smile to your lips.

Right.

The ye ol’ wasssssaaaaaap to anyone with a Ghostface mask.

“Fine,” you relent, and you swear your mind is playing tricks on you when it sees a half-smile form on his own face, but the fire swipes it away just as fast. “But at least tell me your name — unless you want me to call you Ghostface.”

The man shakes his head, the fringe of his black hair following with him.

“Levi,” he introduces, softer this time. “Just call me Levi.”

[melzula]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!!!! okay this has been a long time coming for me but would you be open to doing a general iroh and kya’s daughter wedding piece ? i feel like that’s the only part of their relationship we haven’t seen !

a/n: was so excited to get this request bc i love these two so much!!!

~ based off of these headcanons ~

“You look beautiful.”

“I think I’m going to puke,” you utter with a nervous laugh, anxiously fidgeting with the ceremonial pins in your hair that you just can’t seem to get straight.

Sighing, Kya carefully pushes your hands away before adjusting the pins herself. The golden ornate pieces had been a gift from Zuko, said to have belonged to his late wife and worn on their own wedding day, and though you were grateful for the thoughtful gift you also felt that an immense amount of pressure came with them. Marrying Iroh meant you’d officially be part of the royal family now, and a part of you was worried you wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations that came with that.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” your mother consoles, stepping back to admire her work once the pins are set. “Today is an important day and the start of another adventure for you, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“I don’t feel like a real bride,” you admit in an almost defeated tone. You stare at your reflection in the mirror and find yourself carefully brushing your fingers against the crescent moon hanging from your neck. The coolness of the stone against your fingertips brings a sense of comfort to you, but it doesn’t relieve you of your nerves.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Kya asks with a worried furrow of her brows.

“Of course not!” You’re quick to interject. “I love Iroh, I can’t imagine a life without him anymore.”

“But?” Your mother prods.

“But… What if I’m not good at being a wife? What if I’m just not… not good at all. He’s the General and the son of the Fire Lord. What can I give him that he doesn’t already have or that he couldn’t get from a Fire Nation woman here?”

Smiling faintly, Kya gently takes your hands in her own and gives them a comforting squeeze. “That boy loves you more than you could ever know. I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice when he speaks about you. I wouldn’t have given him my blessing if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure of this. Don’t compare yourself or waste your time wondering about all the what ifs. All you have to do today is focus on Iroh, and everything else will take care of itself.”

You let out a shaky breath and blink back your tears before throwing your arms around your mother in a tight hug. You know she speaks the truth, and her comforting words greatly ease your anxiety. You’d fallen in love with the boy from your childhood, and he’d fallen just as hard for you if not harder. Despite being apart for so many years you’d found your way back to each other and helped one another find the missing piece in your lives. You and Iroh are simply meant to be, and your wedding will be proof that.

A gentle knock on the door has you parting from your mother, and as Bumi sticks his head in the doorway you smile.

“It’s almost time, kiddo,” he says with a grin. “The general’s going to get his socks knocked off when he sees you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bumi,” you laugh tearfully before allowing him to hug you tight. You don’t know this, but Bumi has always felt a sort of paternal love for you. He was the closest thing you had to a father growing up and you were the closest thing he had to a child, and like your mother he felt so much pride and love at seeing you so happy. He knew you were in good hands, and that was more than enough for him.

“Are you ready?” Kya asks with an encouraging smile. Sucking in one final nervous breath, you nod before taking her arm and beginning your walk to the palace gardens.

In the courtyard a handful of chairs are set up for your intimate ceremony. Only close friends and family are invited, neither you nor Iroh wanted to make a grand spectacle of your marriage, so you decided to hold your wedding in the gardens with his mother Izumi as your officiant.

At the end of the makeshift isle, Iroh stands in his uniform with a fire lily delicately pinned to his lapel. He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other eagerly awaiting for your arrival. He’s been looking forward to this day ever since he proposed to you, and he can’t wait to finally make you his wife after all this time.

“You make a handsome husband, son,” Izumi compliments from her place beside him. “It brings me great joy to see you so happy.”

“Thank you for agreeing to officiate the wedding, mother,” Iroh expresses gratefully.

“I knew it was a matter of time before you two fell in love,” she notes with a careful smile. “I know she’ll make a wonderful wife.”

Beaming with pride, Iroh’s gaze falls upon the garden gates where you finally emerge. Arm linked with Kya’s and with a bouquet of flowers in the other hand, you make the most radiant bride Iroh has ever seen. Your gown flows elegantly behind you as you walk, your hair sparkles from the sunlight hitting the pins, and your smile is enough to take his breath away. He can feel himself beginning to tear up, and it takes everything in him not to rush towards you and take you in his arms himself.

Kya hugs you tight once you reach the end of the isle, doing her best to keep her tears at bay before letting you go. Carefully tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face, she smiles before handing you off to Iroh.

“Take good care of my daughter,” she whispers before chastely kissing his cheek.

The butterflies in your stomach are quieted when you finally reach Iroh. Nothing else but him matters in that moment, and as his golden irises stare into your own you find yourself falling in love all over again.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispers with a tearful laugh.

“So do you,” you smile, carefully wiping your tears so as to not ruin your makeup.

Your ceremony goes without a hitch, and when Izumi officially proclaims you as husband and wife Iroh gracefully dips you before giving you the most passionate kiss you’ve ever experienced. Your family and friends cheer and applaud, but it all fades into the background as you grip his sleeves and melt into his touch.

“I can’t wait to spend forever with you,” he professes earnestly after parting from your kiss.

“Forever and always,” you agree breathlessly before pulling him down by his collar for another kiss.

| atla tags: @nataliahaslosthershit @sirkekselord @chronic-daydreamer @niktwazny303

[builtbybrokenbells]

Partners In Crime

The cure for heartbreak is truth, but what do you do when the truth is the source of heartbreak itself?

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, unrequited love, mentions of cheating/cheating, lots of pining and yearning, unreturned feelings, self doubt, anxiety, anger, depression, marriage/weddings, breakups, crying, mentions of blood/bleeding, being left at the altar, self sabotage, self doubt, eloping, kissing, confessing feelings, drinking, swearing, childhood friends to lovers, sorry if i miss any!

some Jake angst bc i guess I’m not suffering enough right now. much love, hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Jake’s POV

A rose, so strikingly beautiful in its own simplicity. The petals, blood red with intent to steal attention, surrounded by pillowy emerald leaves to frame the picture of her. The smell, sickeningly sweet. The perfume could choke you, suffocate you with its fragrant aura all whilst convincing you that you were okay, and that it would never hurt you. The silk of the petal against the skin of your fingertips, soft and inviting, forever making you wonder how anything could ever be so easy to love.

And then the hand slips, tumbling recklessly past the flowing leaves and grazing over the violent stem. The thorns, the only protection for the beauty above, sticking into your skin as the aching pain begins to spread. Crimson, not just from the leaves, now flows effortlessly from the wound produced by the one thing you’d fallen hopelessly for, reminding you that sometimes, not even love is enough to spare you from the hurt.

The skin, barely even broken, makes you wonder if you were even harmed at all, or if it was a figment of your own imagination, showing you the plausible outcome as it begged you to take a step back. As you brought your hand to the high quality wool of your suit jacket, swiping away the memory of your injury, you knew it could not be false. It hurt too badly to be anything but true, for even dreams did not sting quite the same. As you raise your fist to the oak door, one fancier than you’ve ever seen before, the ache suddenly spreads far beyond the tip of your finger, settling deep in your chest and wrapping around your spine as you wait for an answer.

Not even a shuffle is heard from the other side, and you wonder if maybe you should walk away, or if knocking was a good idea at all. You wonder if she’s in there, weepy-eyed with a smile while she stares at her reflection in the mirror and a dozen hands worked to zip up the back of her dress. You wonder what the dress looked like, if it was intricately beaded or plastered with lace, or maybe it was a silk slip that screamed elegance that matched her entirety.

You need not wonder, because wondering was never something you had to do on her behalf. You knew her, and you knew her better than the back of your hand. More than that, you were certain you had studied her far beyond what you’d ever known about the rosewood fret of your SG. You knew she was in the room, dressed perfectly in white lace extending down to her wrists, cascading delicately to the floor behind her as she walked. Her hair was twisted up, the loose pieces by her face hanging down to accentuate the warmth of her cheeks, just like always. Her hands, perfectly manicured and searching too busy themselves as she tried her best not to break a nail or chip away at the polish. She was tapping one foot against the ground, her heart beating so hard in her chest you could nearly hear it from the hallway, but despite her anxiety, she held a soft, warm smile on her lips.

She was not an open book, but you’d dedicated a lifetime to knowing her. Months and miles could separate you, and you would find her again the exact same as how you left her. Sometimes, things never changed, and thankfully, she was one thing that never wavered.

You knew her so well, and seeing her after so much time away, the same picture as you’d seared in your mind every night alone in a hotel room, was always comforting. It wrapped you in a blanket of warmth, filling your heart with so much love it might burst from your chest. She was everything, and she reminded you of that fact every time she graced you with her presence.

Unfortunately, her company often came with more than just that.

When the door opened, revealing the picture you’d already created in your mind, you were reminded of that fact worse than ever before.

“Jake?” She breathed, her lips glossy and her eyes sparkling to match. Her hair was twisted up, just as you’d imagined it would be, dazzling with a clip covered in gems. The soft locks of hair hung around her face, the same ones she could never seem to get a handle on. This time, it was purposeful, and you knew she’d given in to the lack of control rather than fighting it. “I can’t believe you made it.” The smile on her face was striking, but as breathtaking as it was, it hurt worse than it helped your aching heart.

“You didn’t really think I would miss your big day?” You forced the words out, wondering why you couldn’t just appreciate the moment rather than dread the future. You extended your arm, holding out the flower, you realized it had nothing on her. As beautiful as you once believed it was, seeing her stand in front of you dressed in the wedding gown and dolled to perfection, you knew nothing could ever hold a candle to her. Not even the blood red petals and the emerald leaves.

No, especially not something as simple as that.

“Here,” you said, watching her gaze down upon the single flower held in your hand. “Figured there would be lots of white today, so maybe some color would break up the monotony a bit.” Another smile graced her lips, so big the apples of her cheeks would start to ache if she held it for any amount of time.

You wanted to see her smile, so why did it hurt so much?

More than that, why did it hurt so bad to love something that was so easy to fall in love with?

“You always know what to say, Jacob.” She whispered, grabbing it from your grasp, her eyes never straying from the ruby red petals. “I never should have doubted you.” It looked a million times better in her hands than it ever did it yours, and you couldn’t help but notice the thorns never once thought to prick her skin, fearful of harming something so beautiful.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You chuckled, finding the ache ease the more she spoke. The soft sound hit your ears, quickly making itself the most important thing in the entire room. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” And it was the truth, even if you knew you shouldn’t be saying it. “Not that you don’t look beautiful every day.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, finally looking up to catch your eye. She held the stare for a moment, and just like every other time, you could have sworn there was something there, something deeper than the surface level shit the two of you were spewing to each other.

If there was, you were still a coward, and when you thought about addressing it, your palms broke into a sweat and your stomach twisted in a knot.

Maybe if you had found the courage all those years ago, you’d never be standing before her now, watching her get married. Maybe, you would be the one waiting to marry her.

“Do you want to come in?” She asked, her eyes flickering past you, settling on the wallpapered drywall in the hallway. She blinked a few times, seemingly trying to bring herself back to reality. You wanted to ask, but you were afraid of the answer.

“F’course. Think we’ve got some catching up to do.” Catching up before she could never be bothered to think of you again, is what you should have said. After all, it was the truth, no matter how badly it hurt.

“Definitely.” She let out a giggle, throwing the door open and stepping back. As soon as you let yourself move forward, you felt like you were punched in the stomach. In the air lingered a perfume you’d spent a lifetime trying to forget. It was the sweetest smell that you’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing. You’d spent nights with your head buried under the covers, your lips ghosting the skin of other women to try and drown the memory of her, but it never worked. When you woke in the morning, you always seemed to yearn for the same thing. Everything paled in comparison, soured just by the knowledge that something so special existed. “Everything got pushed back a little bit, but I’m trying not to panic. The day is still good, we’re here, we’re happy, even if it is a little bit later than expected.”

Happy.

Bold choice of words, sweetheart.

“What happened?” You asked, your eyes floating around the room, taking in everything it had to offer. Bridal suites were always so feminine, divine in their own special way. Billowy curtains, a stunning aerial view of the yard, porcelain white bathrooms and neat towels folded at every corner. It was perfect, everything in place, but it wasn’t her. Although she was perfect and pristine at first glance, she loved mess. For her entire life, she’d strewn clothes across the floor, leaving water bottles behind wherever she went. She loved nature, the feeling of earth on her skin and sand between her toes. Many times you’d walk in on her, paint covering her clothes and splattered on her face because she tried to repaint her bedroom all on her lonesome.

She was perfect in her chaos, and it was one of the very things that made you love her in the first place.

You wondered if her soon to be husband loved her for the very same things. You didn’t know him, nor did you know much about him. When you talked, it was never about him, but rather the life you two once dreamed of building together. Your job had taken you away from home, away from her, and as much as you missed her, you were grateful you never had to watch her fall in love with someone else. At the same time, it made you uneasy, unsure if you could watch your best friend fall into the arms of a man you knew nothing about. You dreaded the idea that he did not love her for those quirks, and that in your time away, his subjective love had made her change.

You looked to the bed, where she would have slept the night before, noticing the sheets pulled from the corners and the pillows nearly falling off the sides. The bag that once protected her dress was flipped inside out, thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed and long forgotten. A sadness washed over you, knowing that he did love her the same way. Then, you felt guilty for being sad at all; you should be jumping for joy that such a wonderful woman was being loved the way she deserved.

Even so, you could not shake the feeling of knowing you could love her better than anyone ever had, if she’d just give you the chance.

Then again, how could she ever give you a chance when you had always been too afraid to ask?

“No point in getting into it. Doesn’t matter now, does it?” She said, her tone light and the look in her eyes far away. You took a step towards the window, taking a long look outside. Rows of chairs were placed in the large field, the pond in the background decorated with lily pads and the birds sat upon trees in the distance singing love ballads. You wanted to be happy, but your stomach felt like it was filled with lead and your bones were heavy with the weight of your grief.

Tell her.

“It is important, sweetheart. It’s always important, to me at least.” Of course you could not tell her. Every time you thought about voicing your love for her, your throat closed around the words and your tongue petrified. Your heart raced, your whole body vibrating with the intensity of the emotion you felt for her, yet sentenced to a lifetime of never being able confess your sins.

Loving her in itself was not a sin, but by god did it feel like one. It was your biggest secret, and your largest skeleton in the closet. It loomed over your head wherever you went, and it clung to the fibers of your being no matter how hard you tried to shake it off. At five years old, with mud streaked cheeks and grass stains on your knees, you loved her the same. At twelve, with cracking voices and awkward statures, you still thought she was the most beautiful thing in the whole world. At eighteen, when you were lucky enough to bring her as your date to senior prom, you swore you would never feel the same for another woman, and you still hadn’t. Just a few days ago, thousands of miles away, she was the only thing you wanted. With her wedding invitation folded in your wallet, her name in your phone with a heart beside it despite the years being unkind to your friendship, she was the only thing you ever wanted to come home to.

“No, because if I talk about it, I’ll psych myself out again.” At that, a spark of hope ignited in your chest.

“Again?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, looking out at the yard too. A few guests were sat already, preparing for the main event. The event in which would forever haunt you. “I mean, it’s my wedding, the biggest day of my life. I think it’s normal to be anxious?” She posed it like a question, like she wanted you to tell her she was wrong, but you couldn’t. If you were to have her, it wouldn’t be like this. It wasn’t fair to ruin this for her for your own selfish purposes.

“Talk me through it, maybe I can help.” You offered. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, gentle and quiet as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress.

“I didn’t picture it like this.” She whispered, looking towards the floor. “I always thought I’d wake up on the morning of my wedding day, and I’d be overjoyed. I-I mean, I am, just not the way I thought I would be. I woke up, and it was cloudy outside. The sun’s not even shining, Jake.” You wanted to sit beside her, to pull her into your arms and tell her the sun was not shining because he was not the man she was supposed to marry, but you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, yearning to be the one who she was excited yet nervous to marry. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” She huffed, shaking her head at herself.

“Stop it, you always do that.” You said, stepping towards her. She looked up at you, noticing you were closer than before. Her stare paralyzed you, ensuring you could not progress any further. “You always act like how you feel isn’t important, but it is, Y/N. To me, it is.”

“But it’s not, Jake. I just have the jitters. Once I get out there and say my vows, it’ll be better. I know it will be.”

How do you know?

How does she know that when the curtain closes and the sun draws near the earth, that she’ll be happy with her decision? How does she know that even under the warm golden hue on the earth as it prepares for the night, the uncertainty would flee? How does she know that she won’t decide he’s not the one for her, only after it’s too late?

“If you say so, sweetheart.” You nod, biting back a sorrowful smile. She was looking at you, studying you, waiting for you to say something else. You wondered if she was waiting for you to say the very thing you’d sworn yourself to secrecy about.

Of course she didn’t. She was getting married, and not to you.

Still, there was this hint of hope in her eye you couldn’t help but pick up on. It was the same hope that you so often felt when you were with her.

“Anyway, enough about me and my woes… how was Europe? I’m sure much more exciting than consoling a pitiful bride.”

Never.

You would console her every minute of every day and you would never get tired of it, nor would you wish to be anywhere else. She was what you wanted, no matter the circumstance. You wanted her for all she was, the sadness, happiness and anger combined. You didn’t want her on technicalities nor did you want only the good parts. You loved her so dearly that you’d even take the worst from her, if that was all she was ever willing to give you.

“It was good,” You cleared your throat as you spoke, finding a lump steadily growing within it.

“That’s it?” She forced a chuckle out, clearly picking up on your distance. “Give me more than that. How can I live vicariously through you if that’s all you have to say about it?” There was humour in her tone, but she meant what she said. She still wanted to be there with you.

“Yeah, it was good.” You nodded, feigning a little more excitement. “It’s beautiful there.”

“Was it everything we ever dreamed of?” The simple question hit you like a brick, the sheer weight of her words nearly making you double over in pain. Suddenly, you were sixteen again, crowded in her tiny bedroom and sharing a comforter on her twin mattress. The air was chilly and the lights were dim, your bodies close, but never as close as you wanted to be. Laughter hung thick in the air, keeping you warm just as well as the blanket as you talked about dreams and fears of the future.

Out of all the fears, you never seemed worried about her not being a part of your biggest dreams.

Maybe you had been scared of all the wrong things.

“You would have loved it, Angel.” You confessed, looking away from her so you did not have to see the sadness on her face. “I wished you were with me every step of the way.”

“I should have went,” she whispered, pain clear in her voice the same as it was in your own. “In the beginning, I should have went with you when you asked. Maybe we could have done all the things we used to talk about.”

“You still can.” The words slipped out effortlessly, and you wished you could take them back. The sentiment hung heavy in the air, both of you knowing the meaning was much deeper than it seemed. “I mean… You know, you can always come visit, see the sights and stuff.” Your cover up was pathetic, but it was the best you could do in the moment.

“You guys still want me there?” She asked, surprising you with her intrigue. You’d expected a blunt rejection, but she was humouring your ideas. You turned to look at her again, unable to keep your eyes off of her. A small smile blossomed on your lips, a real one that could only be accredited to her.

“Y/N, there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t want you there with us.” It was the truth, even if it was heavy. She took in a long breath, looking down at her attire for a moment before catching your eye again.

“I think about it more than I should.” She admitted, shy about still living within that same daydream whilst oblivious to the fact that you’d never left it. Your heart fluttered at the idea of her still thinking about spending her days with you, sharing hotel rooms and building a new life together, away from your hometown, away from him. “Come sit with me?” She asked, hopeful that you would oblige.

Josh had told you not to walk into the building, not to knock on her door with sad eyes and a broken heart. At the time, you thought he was ridiculous for suggesting such a thing, knowing you needed to see her. Now that she was looking at you, more beautiful than ever, you knew he was right. It was a bad idea to come, and a worse idea to sit beside her when you knew it would do nothing but break your heart further. As you stepped towards the bed, sitting next to her, you just hoped that you would not break her heart the same as you were breaking your own.

You were still, staring forward instead of turning your body towards her like you so badly wanted to. Then, without warning, her hand reached out for yours, settling so cautiously over the back of your hand. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, just as wonderful as it was all of those years ago. You could not remember the last time anything felt so good.

Tell her.

“I’m really glad you came, Jake.” She said, quiet as a mouse as if her confession was a crime.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I do,” She agreed, but it was strained. “It’s just… been so long since I’ve seen you. I was worried I might not be as important to you anymore.”

She wanted to be important to you. Even now, when she was minutes away from being someone else’s, she would always be a little bit yours.

She had never been yours, but in some strange way, you both had the inkling that she was.

“You’ll always be important to me, angel.” You said, feeling her perfume begin to suffocate you. It was lethal, but you knew if you walked away, you would beg to come back just to die at her hands. “Do you remember when we were kids and you used to dream about this day? How I always told you I’d be here to hold your hand through it, just so you don't get scared and run away?”

“Yeah,” she let out a small laugh, but her mind was far away. You wondered what she was thinking, and you wondered if you even wanted to know. As terrible as it was, you hoped she was thinking about you. “How tightly can you hold my hand?” She asked, her tone airy and light, like she wheezed the words past her lips.

“What?” You asked, keeping the smile on your face as you turned your head to look at her. There was something unfamiliar in her eyes.

She was afraid.

For the first time in your life, you had to swallow the fact that the bravest person you knew was afraid of the future. No matter the circumstances, she had always been prepared. Even when your bags were packed and you held a plane ticket in your hand, ready to fly away from everything you’d ever known, away from her, she was not scared. You were terrified, tears in your eyes with shaking hands, but she never wavered and instead, encouraged you to follow your dreams. She kissed your cheek and hugged you tight, reassuring you that you could do anything you put your mind to.

If that was true, you would be able to say the words.

Jesus Christ, Jacob. Tell her. Time is running out.

You felt panicked, waiting for her to respond. You needed to say the words, but they were stuck in your throat again. You didn’t want to lose her, but your own cowardice was seeing that through.

“I want to run.”

Please, Y/N, run away.

Don’t do this.

“Why, sweetheart? I thought this was what you wanted? You looked so happy in the pictures on the invitation.” Convincing her to leave would be selfish, and she needed you to be selfless. You would be anything she needed, even if it was not what you wanted. “Is… is he good to you?”

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded, solemn in her answer. “He’s great.”

“…but?”

“But, I don’t think he’s what I want.” The words were like a breath of fresh air, a million pounds lifted off your shoulders. You were so featherlight that you felt like you were floating away. Hearing her say it was a relief, but it did not stop you from feeling guilty about it. “Everyone said it was okay to be nervous, but I don’t think it’s normal to doubt it. My mom said she was nervous to marry my dad, but she was so certain he was what she wanted. I’m… I’m not. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up my freedom, my last name. I don’t know if I can commit to him for a lifetime, because I can barely even commit to him right now.”

You wanted to ask. You needed to know if that meant what you thought it did.

Fucking tell her.

“I woke up today sick to my stomach, and it hasn’t stopped. I’m sitting here, and… ugh, fuck.” She groaned, her free hand flying to her forehead in exasperation. “I’m the worst, Jake. He’s so good to me, and I just… I don’t want him to be. The last few months, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to leave. If I do and nothing changes, then I’m the bad guy, and I don’t want that. It’s just… I love him, but I’m not in love, I don’t think. It’s boring, and every day is the same. When you’re in love, boring is nice, but this boring is just… boring.”

“Keep talking.” You encouraged, knowing that no matter which way it went, she needed to speak her mind.

“He doesn’t want to do anything. We don’t go anywhere, we don’t go on dates. We just sit at home and stare at each other. It’s been months since we’ve had fun, and I don’t know if I want a lifetime without fun. Even today… I didn’t want this. The big ceremony and the expensive dinner… it’s not me. I hate it, and he thinks I love it.”

You knew it wasn’t her, but you wanted to believe that she was the one who picked it. Hearing her say it broke your heart, knowing that this was not what she dreamed of when you two were kids. It was not what you wanted for her, either.

“I kicked my bridesmaids out because I needed time alone to calm down, and I thought it would work being away from the wedding stuff for a minute. I guess it did, but it wasn’t in the way I hoped it would be.” You reached into your suit jacket, your fingers searching for the inside pocket. They closed around the cool metal, pulling it from its hiding place as you extended your arm towards her. You knew you would need it to get through the day, but you didn’t expect her to need it, too. She looked down at the flask, her lips quirking into a soft smile. She grabbed it from you, placing her painted lips against the opening and throwing her head back.

“I’m your best man, y/n. I need to know if you want me to hold your hand so you’ll stay, or if you want me to start the car so we can get you out of here.”

“Don’t give me that option.” She chuckled, shaking her head as the whiskey burned her chest. Her cheeks turned rosy in reaction to the alcohol, reminding you she was still the same girl she was all of those years ago.

“Why, ‘cause you’ll take it?” You challenged.

“Yeah,” She nodded, answering without hesitation as she watched you take a sip, too.

“Then that’s your answer, doll. Don’t force yourself to stay when all you want to do is run. You feel that way for a reason.” Suddenly, convincing her to leave was no longer your best interest, but hers, too. You did not care what happened outside of the room so long as she was happy, and it appeared to you that she would not be so long as she stayed.

It just so happened to be the option that would make you the happiest, too.

“Thought you were supposed to hold my hand and make me stay? That’s what I always told you to do.”

What if I don’t want to do that?

“Is that what you want?” You asked, noticing your hand still held tightly in her own. She didn’t seem to want to let go.

“No… maybe? I don’t know.” She sighed.

“I always promised I’d do what’s best for you, Y/N, and if holding your hand and making you stay isn’t what you want, I don’t know if I can do it.”

Tell her.

“Would you hold my hand and help me run away?”

“That’s what best friends do, is it not?” You grinned, taking another sip from the flask.

“A best friend would tell me I’m insane, I think.”

“Right,” you give a slow nod, chuckling to yourself. “We’ve always been more like partners in crime, I think.”

“I’d say.” She laughed, nodding with you. “I missed you, Jake.” Your hand tightened over hers, your heart beating a million miles a minute. She held your stare, again adorning that same hopeful glimmer.

Is this what she wanted, or were you only seeing it in such a way because you wanted it so badly? Was she dropping you hints, or were you crazed by how dearly you loved her? Worst of all, should she actually run, or were you encouraging it because you couldn’t stand the thought of her staying?

“I missed you too, sweetheart. More than you know.”

“I feel good, Jake. Better than I have all day.” She confessed, intertwining your fingers with her own and rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Maybe you just needed to get it out and get on with your day?” You offered, saddened at the thought.

“No,” she shook her head, her voice quiet again. “It’s ‘cause you’re here. Been looking forward to today, but I think the only reason why is because I knew you’d be here.”

Love could not begin to describe how you felt for her, especially after hearing her say such things.

“Is that bad? I’m more excited to see you today than my future husband.” She said, her face plagued with guilt and her beautiful smile fading into a frown. In an instant, your hesitancy faded and you reached your hand out to cup her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, relief showering the both of you. Touching her felt like finally being home after a nasty bout of homesickness. You ran your thumb over her cheek, the makeup littering her skin not even thinking of smudging under your touch.

She was not the thorny rose that hurt you. She was not a beautiful thing that hurt to love. She was the petals, beautiful and breathtaking, and you were the thorn drawing your own blood.

Not once in this lifetime had she ever hurt you. You had become the one who was an expert at harming yourself. In that moment, the ache in your chest had nothing to do with how easy she was to love, and everything to do with the fact you had always been too scared to say it aloud. Relationships with others and miles between you could not dampen the adoration you felt for her, but that was not her fault. If only you had the strength to tell her, maybe the hurt would ease for both of you.

“I want to have fun with him, like the two of us used to have. I want every minute to seem easy, like it does with us, but it isn’t. It’s hard more than it’s ever been simple, and I don’t think that’s how I want to live my life.”

Was she saying it? Were you hearing the words you’d forced yourself to hold back? Was she saying everything you had been feeling all this time?

Tell her, Jacob.

“Even if I do change my mind, I’ve been in here all day saying these terrible things. How can I go out there and marry him after doubting it so much?”

She wanted you to answer her questions, but it was a dead end for both of you. If you encouraged it, it would be an admission of betrayal for her. You were her best friend, the one person who promised not to hurt her. If you encouraged her to run, you might be hurting her far more than it would help her. If you told her to stay, you were faced with the haunting feeling that both of you would look back on this moment and regret the decision.

“Answer this,” you said, keeping your gaze on her as you spoke. “In thirty years, if you marry him today, will you regret staying? Or if you leave, will you look back in thirty years and feel like you made a mistake?”

“I-I can’t answer that Jake. I don’t know.” There was a glossy look in her eye, one that spoke volumes. It was louder than any word she had spoken thus far. The fear and hesitation was clear in her face, and you wanted to comfort her, but you did not know how.

When you got on that plane, flying home to her, you never expected to be faced with such a situation. You never expected to feel hopeful about today, especially after you had spent so many months dreading it.

“I guess… it would be easier to regret leaving than regret staying, right?” She breathed. “If I stay, I’m wasting thirty years. If I leave, I can spend that time learning to love life in other ways, and maybe I’ll never think it was a mistake at all.”

“Right,” You nodded, looking back out the window, noticing people filling chairs. Your heart dropped to your stomach, wondering if she would follow through with her thoughts, or if she would stay out of obligation. Could you keep her occupied for long enough so she could come to the right decision? “I can’t tell you what to do, sweetheart, but I can support whatever you decide.”

“Will… will you take me to Europe with you?” She asked, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. “You’re going back, right? I-I… I want to do what we talked about. I want to travel the world Jake, with you.” She stammered out, as if she couldn’t believe her own words. “I know I sound crazy, I know I do, but I’m not. You’re… you’re my whole world, the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. You’re my best friend, and there’s so many things we promised that we never got to do. I don’t want to miss out on that, or be stuck in my hometown knowing I made a mistake by letting you walk away again.”

“Y/N,” You warned, wondering if she realized the extent of what she was telling you. Suddenly it all became real, and it was much larger than the fantasy you had been living in since you sat down beside her.

Josh was right, and you were breaking your own heart by entertaining an impossible idea.

“No, don’t tell me I’m wrong. I dont want to hear it.” She shook her head, silently pleading with you to be honest with yourself just for one second.

She felt it too. You have to tell her.

“Jake, take me to Europe. I want to see the world. I want to be with you again, and Josh and Sam, and Danny too. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted this. I don’t want to wait a year before I see you again and… I just, I can’t.” She was saying it in every way she knew how, without having to say the actual words aloud. “He’s not the person I should be marrying, Jake.”

You wanted to tell her everything, how you wanted it even more than she did, but it was not right. She was nervous, second guessing because of cold feet on the biggest day of her life. You could not take her away from this and ruin everything. You could not take her away and have her regret choosing you. Making her unhappy would be the biggest mistake of your life, and you would never be able to repent from it.

“Listen to me,” you said, taking her face between your hands, gentle and telling of all the love you had for her. “You wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t right, sweetheart. You are the most self-assured, smart, and level-headed person I know, and right now, this isn’t you. You’re getting married, angel. You’re going to go outside and walk down the aisle and steal everyone’s breath away, because you are the most beautiful thing that’s ever graced this earth. You’re getting married, and you’re going to be happy. I promised you I’d be here to hold your hand so you couldn’t run, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Jake,” she protested, her bottom lip quivering as tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “What happened to whatever I decide? What happened you supporting me no matter what? Why would you let me say all of that just to tell me I’m wrong?”

“Maybe I lied,” you whispered, swiping away a stray tear. “Trust me when I say, I want you to come with us so badly, but I don’t want you to regret it. Right now, I think you will.”

“I won’t, Jake. Been thinking about it since you got on the plane last time. Every time, really.” She shook her head, panic beginning to set it. More tears made an appearance, and you did your best to wipe them away as soon as they fell.

You loved her enough to do what was best, even if it killed you to do it.

“Don’t cry, angel. Only happy tears, today.” You hummed, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you as if her life depended upon it. You held her just the same, knowing she had no idea how much it meant to you to have her in your arms. She had no idea how much it meant to you that she wanted to go with you, instead.

That was the reason you had to make her stay, though. You could not in good faith allow her to run away, because deep down, the motive would always be just a little bit selfish.

“I love you, Jake.” She said it with so much conviction that it was hard to ignore. She said it like a confession, rather than a fact.

“I love you, sweetheart.” And yours was a confessional statement too, even if she did not realize it. Just as the words left your lips, a knock sounded on the door. It forced the two of you apart, even if it was painful for the both of you. You brought your thumb to her face again, carefully swiping away the specs of mascara that had fallen. Her sadness plagued her, but it did not stand in the way of her beauty. Once she was back in perfect condition, you urged her to answer the door.

She stood, white gown flowing angelically behind her as her fingers wrapped round the golden doorknob. She pulled it open, now face to face with her mother, who was so busy jittering with excitement she failed to notice the grief written across her daughters face. She looked in the room, her eyes landing on you and widening with a joyous shock, happy to see you had made the occasion.

Would her mother be this happy if she knew you almost ruined her daughters big day?

She barely uttered a greeting before turning back to the girl you loved so dearly. “It’s time, sweetheart. Your dad is waiting outside. Are you ready?”

Are you ready? The question pounded in your ears like a drum, louder with every passing moment.

Is she ready?

Are you ready?

Tell her, Jake.

She looked back at you over her shoulder, stunning and breathtaking as if she was waiting for you to answer for her. Her mother watched you, only slightly concerned about the tension in the air.

“She’s ready.” You forced a smile, nodding your head. Her eyes caught yours as she pleaded with you to stop, to stop everything and stay in the room with her for just a little while longer.

She wanted you, the same as you wanted her, but you were not good for her. You were just the thing that was standing in the way of her forever. If it was meant to be, it would have happened all of those years ago.

Right?

Right?

Tell her.

“Will you walk with me?” Her voice, sweet as honey and smooth as silk, settled deep somewhere in your heart with no intent to leave. Would you walk with her? Could you handle such heartbreak?

“Of course, sweetheart.” You nodded, taking a stand. You straightened out your jacket, drawing in a long breath as reality began to take hold.

This was it. The very thing you’d had nightmares about your entire life. The love of your life, vowing to love someone else for the rest of hers.

Her mother straightened her hair for her, running a soft hand over the line of her shoulders where lace met soft skin. She ensured she was pristine, not a thread out of place before kissing her cheek and promising to meet her out there. She looked at you only, her gaze never faltering.

She wanted you, Jacob. Only you.

Her mother disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in heavy silence once again. It felt like weights were tied around your ankles, holding you there and sentencing you to an eternity spent in limbo.

Tell her.

“Let’s go, angel.” You said, taking a step towards her. Her eyes, pleading again, but her mouth did not move. She stood, stoic and statue-like. She was petrified from her own heart, unsure if she could take the heartbreak of having you give her away.

“Okay.” She whispered, her throat scratchy and her hands trembling. She reached out to you, the action telling you she still needed you to hold her hand and make her stay. You grabbed on to it, lacing your fingers together once more, unable to ignore how right it felt. “Please stay with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you.” Your chest was tight, burning with rage towards yourself. Why couldn’t you do it? Why were you biting your tongue if it was only hurting the both of you more? You swore yourself to secrecy, letting yourself believe that the truth was more painful than silence, but that was no longer true. The truth would set you free, and possibly even allow you to love the one thing you never allowed yourself to have.

The hallway was barren, but voices were in the distance. Happy, bubbly, excited. The echoes were the exact opposite of the emotion hanging between you two. She should feel that way. Why didn’t she feel that way? She was happy before you showed up, stealing the light from her eyes even on her biggest day.

Was she, though? Really and truly happy?

You two walked together, the personification of grief becoming you both despite the joy you were supposed to be feeling. When you neared the end of the hallway, you had to stop. The world was spinning, seemingly crumbling before your eyes. Your stomach was sick, your palms sweating and your knees ready to give out under your weight. You couldn’t do it, even if you promised her you would.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, panicked at your sudden loss of confidence.

“I…” you trailed off, looking over her face. “I can’t,” you shook your head.

“You can’t?” You can’t what?” She pressed, anger bubbling inside of her. She needed honesty, and she needed it now. Why couldn’t you muster the strength?

“I can’t go out there.”

tell her.

Tell her.

Tell Her.

Fucking Tell Her, Coward.

“I can’t… I can’t watch you marry someone else.”

The world appeared normal, the sun still desperately trying to peek out from underneath the clouds and the birds still singing their pitiful love songs. The chatter remained in the hallway, unchanged and unbearable. Her hand still rested in your own, and her eyes were still watching you. Your heart was still beating, and your knees did not give way. The same look was on her face, and the glimmer in her eyes never changed.

The world looked the same, but everything was different.

Finally, after a lifetime of holding it back, you told her the truth.

“Why?” She asked, desperate to hear you say it. Her expression was not one of horror, but one of great hopefulness. “Tell me Jake. I need to hear you say it.”

“I love you, Y/N.” You rasped, your own throat dry as your words came out with a nervous wobble. “I can’t watch you marry him, because I’m in love with you.”

“Fuck, Jake.” The words hit you hard, like a knife even though she did not brandish them like a weapon. “Took you long enough, don’t you think?” You we’re too immersed in your own confession to care about her chastise. You opened the flood gates, and now there was no sign of stopping.

“When we were five, I loved you. Way back when we used to make mud pies and play pretend in my parents’ front yard, I wanted to do it with you for the rest of my life. When we were twelve, I loved you. We didn’t know what love meant, but we knew how much we meant to each other. When we were sixteen, making plans in your bedroom to travel the world together, I loved you so much it hurt. Right now, I love you the same as I did then, but even more so, because I know what it means, and I know it’s never going to go away.” You confessed, feeling the weight of the world being lifted from you. “Europe wasn’t everything we dreamed of, because you weren’t there. You weren’t there, Y/N, and I spent every night wishing you were. I came home to watch you get married, but I can’t do it, because I love you too much.”

“I can’t get married, Jake.” She said, looking over her shoulder to ensure nobody was onlooking the situation between you.

“I wanted to encourage you, to make sure you followed through with it because you deserve this life, sweetheart. You deserve the house, the dogs and the expensive ring and fancy wedding venue. You deserve everything, but I was always so afraid I couldn’t give it to you. Right now, I’m afraid that nobody could ever give you what I could, because nobody could ever love another person this way, this much.”

“You give me everything, Jake. You gave me the world when we were five, and you’re giving me the world right now, without even knowing it.” She said, the tears rushing to her eyes again. “I can’t get married to him, because I only ever wanted to marry you.” Her cheeks were damp with her misery, feeling guilty on behalf of a man she did not love nearly half as much as you. “I made this life, this new dream because you left, and I was afraid I’d never get the chance to live out the dream we made when we were kids. I spent all day unsure if I was making the right decision, but you showed up at my door, and now I know that I’m not. Marrying him has never been the right decision, and if I go out there, I’ll be looking for you in the crowd, wishing it was you standing beside me, instead.”

“Make the right decision, then.” You pleaded, knowing you could not make the first move. “Make the right decision, Y/N, because I’ve always been too scared to do it myself. Make the right decision before we lose our chance, please.”

She sprung forward, her hand slipping from yours and instead wrapping around your neck. One hand anchored on her hip and the other cupped her cheek, drawing her into you as she pressed her lips to your own. It was a feeling you’d been waiting a lifetime for, but the daydreams never came close to how it truly felt.

You told her, and she made the right decision, just like it was always meant to be. You’d been so afraid of something you never needed to fear, because she loved you just the same.

You could feel her tears on your cheeks as she pulled away, but the smile on her face contradicted the inkling of sadness that lingered on her skin.

“Happy tears, Jake.” She said, her face still so close to your own. “I’m happy, now. I’m not second guessing it, because I’ve spent the last six months making sure this was how I truly felt. Today was the last piece of the puzzle. You walking in that door made everything make sense. As much as it hurts to leave him here, it would hurt him much more if I married him while I was in love with someone else.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You said, running your fingertips over the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed again, enamoured with the feeling of you touching her.

“Don’t be,” She shook her head. “I could have said it too, but it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is we said it now, before it was too late.”

“You’re dad’s gonna kill me.” She let out a laugh, the first genuine one since you got there.

“No, he’ll be fine. He likes you much more than he likes him.” She assured you. “My mom, though, is a different story. She’ll get over it.” She promised, leaning forward and pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “But, if we’re gonna make a break for it, we should go now, before anyone comes looking for us.”

“Right,” You grinned, nodding in response. “Let’s go get your things. I’ll text Josh.”

“He’s here too?” Her face lit up at the knowledge. You nodded, smiling at her joy.

“Everyone is.”

“Oh, god. They’ll be a witness to my craziness.” She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. The emotion was high, surging through the both of you like never before.

“Your crazy is mine too, angel.” You said, giving her hip a squeeze. “Partners in crime, remember?”

“Right.” She said, grinning up at you.

Without another word, she led you back towards the suite. You closed the door behind you, giving her just enough time to grab the most important things. You watched her scribble a note down on the back of a wedding invitation, likely an apology for the now ex-fiancé she left hanging. As you watched, you couldn’t help but smile, falling more in love with her by the second and only feeling slightly bad for the man she was leaving behind. He was losing the best girl in the world, but you could not dwell on his loss, because it was your gain. You were walking away with the love of your life, and he was losing a fiancé. You were sure the poor guy could find someone else.

To you, if you lost her, you knew there would never be another. Even before you lost her forever, you knew that to be true.

She turned to you, frazzled but still stunning despite her panic. She had a few things clutched tightly in her hand and a change of clothes in her arms, walking towards you and showing you she was not regretting her choice to leave. If anything, she was over the moon, and you could see it in her eyes. Instead of uncertainty, there was happiness sparkling within the beautiful hue of her irises.

“You want me to take that?”

“Yes please.” She breathed, handing the small items off to you. As you grabbed them, you noticed her finger was now ringless. The shiny diamond was sitting atop the goodbye letter, which was stuck in plain sight. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not.” You assured her. “Like I said, if you are, I am too.”

“I’m okay with being crazy together.” She said, more light in her eyes than ever before.

“The guys are gonna meet us in the lot out back, so you can get out of here without any questions. We can worry about the rest later.”

“Okay,” she nodded, a nervous jitter running through her.

“Hey, we’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

“More than anything.” She said, certain in her answer.

“Then let’s get out of here.” You grinned, opening the door for her. She was still in her dress, her change of clothes held tightly to her chest. Before she stepped back into the hallway, she kicked off her heels and kissed your cheek as she passed by. As she sprinted down the hallway, your whole body flooded with love, but this time, you did not need to hold it back. After a lifetime of surpressing it, it finally had somewhere to go.

In true crazy fashion, as you sprinted behind her, another idea popped in your head. You wondered if her crazy had run out, or if she was just crazy enough to go along with it.

You thought you ought to try, because the day had been full of pleasant surprises. After all, the worst she could do was say no.

“Hey,” You called out to her, laughing as she looked back at you over her shoulder. “Slow down for a second.” You pleaded, childlike joy reflecting on both of your faces.

“What’s up?” She asked, a little breathless as her feet slowed to a stop. “Please tell me you’re not changing your mind.”

“What? F’course not.” You waved the idea off, knowing it was completely incredulous. “How impulsive are you feeling right now?”

“Considering I just ran away from my own wedding, I’d say very. Why?” She grinned, her fingers lingering over the handle of the back door, ready to flee at a moments notice.

Perhaps she wasn’t impulsive at all, and the idea of staying was harder for her than trying to leave. She was waiting for you to ask, all of this time. Even as she forced herself to marry someone else, all she ever wanted was you.

“Why waste the dress?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. She watched you for a moment, stunned at your words and unsure if she understood.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you began, checking over your shoulder to ensure nobody was looking for her. “Why waste the expensive dress? Marry me instead.” Her eyes widened, but she did not look horrified at the prospect. “I mean, come on. You’re in a wedding dress, I’m in a suit, I can buy flowers anywhere, and I want to be with you so bad I was willing to object the whole thing in the middle of your vows. If it hasn’t changed in twenty years, I’m sure it won’t change tomorrow.”

“A-are you sure? Like, really sure? You won’t regret it in the morning?” She asked, curious if you were in your right mind.

“I wouldn’t regret it in a million years, my love.” You promised. “I promise I’ll do it right, I’ll buy a ring and we’ll do a ceremony when the smoke clears from this disaster.” You both let out a laugh, knowing that’s exactly what it was. “But why waste the dress, especially when we know what we want?”

“Okay, crazy.” She nodded, cracking the door open. “I’ll marry you. Why waste the dress?”

“You mean it?” You followed behind her, noticing the rocks littering the paved lot and her shoeless feet. You reached out, grabbing her arm before she could step outside. She looked at you, then looked down at you taking your shoes off for her to wear. Her cheeks tinged red, a silent thank you dancing in her eyes as she jumped into the shoes that were just a little too large for her. You looked out into the lot, finding your three brothers standing by your car, waiting for you to join them.

“F’course I do, Jake.” She said, giving your hand a squeeze. “Partners in crime, right?” You couldn’t seem to stop the smile from blooming once again.

“Partners in crime.” You confirmed, stepping outside into the warm afternoon air.

“I love you, Jake.” She said, the sun shining down on her beautiful face, illuminating her in the most perfect picture. You wanted to remember this moment forever. “Feels so good to finally say it.”

“I love you, Y/N.” You replied, taking in your surroundings. As you watched the sunlight shine over her face, your heart soared with affection. “Look,” you said, catching her attention. First, she looked to you, then followed your finger to the sky, where she could see the sun had finally broke free from the clouds, shining down without a single thing brave enough to stop it. “The sun is shining after all, sweetheart.”

As if you needed anything else to solidify that you had made the right decision, but the sun shining, eager to carry you home to start over only correctly this time, was enough to assure you of the importance of your choice. As you led her to the car, watching her eyes light up as she greeted your brothers, you were sickened at the idea you ever had a single shred of doubt at all. She was your partner in crime, whether that be at five years old, or eighty, and you were eternally grateful for that fact alone.

[roonilwazlibimagines]

annoying - d.m x female!reader

Blurb: draco will never beat the annoying allegations, because he is annoying, but he is also romantic or the three times draco was annoying but the three times he made it up to her or just like really fluffy draco malfoy stuff

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: I FORGOT TO SAY THAT THIS IS NOT SMUT BUT IT IS VERY SUGGESTIVE AND INVOLVES NUDITY IM SORRY BUT LIKE VERY MUCH 16+

A/N: this started as a list of things i thought draco malfoy would do as a boyfriend but it turned into this and i made them married because they're traditional!! and they would not live together before marriage!! and i wanted them to live together for this!! in hindsight i could have written around it but i wrote this by the pool and it didn't occur to me then!! i will not change it now!!

ps. in my mind this is with potter!daughter but there was no mention of other potters so i didn't force it, but if you would like to read draco x potter!daughter please check this tag or come talk to me about them because i am obsessed with them!

Masterlist

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“I’d say,” she tapped her finger to her lip, noticing the blonde boy hanging on her every word, “annoying,” she said with a confident finality.

“What?” She had to stop the amused expression she would normally wear, trying to convince her astounded husband that she was being serious. “You’re so full of shit.”

She gasped.

“You’re literally proving my point.” He rolled his eyes and manoeuvred his body to grab onto her hips and pull her towards him.

“Take it back.” He was peppering kisses all over her neck making her let out a traitorous giggle. But she refused to deny it.

It had started less than five minutes earlier. It was well past eleven at night and the young, newly wed couple were still in that stage where neither necessarily wanted to sleep, still fascinated with the idea of being married and wondering what differences came with it.

Draco was reading a new book that she had bought because the blurb sounded like something he would like and she was writing something down in her notebook, being extra careful not to get ink in the bed. Again.

When she suddenly put her quill down, a thump eliciting from the force of it landing on the paper, Draco didn’t even finish the sentence he was on before he dogeared the page he was on and put the novel on his lap to look at the pretty girl slouched next to him.

“If you could describe me in one word, what would it be?”

“Beautiful,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. She rolled her eyes, copying his actions with her own notebook and placing it on the bedside table with the quill that managed to keep its ink where it was meant to be.

“You’re flattering me,” she turned her head back towards, “tell me the truth.”

“I am,” he insisted, also placing his book on his side so he could reposition himself to look at her properly. Her pyjamas were hanging loosely over her body and she had various strands falling out of her ponytail framing her face that was ever so slightly starting to puff up due to the late hour. But Draco was telling the truth.

“Alright, well give me another.”

Draco thought about this one for a second, trying to find a word that suited her but would also appease her interest.

She stared up at him as he hummed to himself. His hair was dishevelled and his t-shirt clung onto his biceps in a way that forced her to focus on the words leaving his pretty lips.

“Strong-willed.”

“Interesting,” she hummed, having a feeling that he was trying to say something to get a reaction out of her. Well, a reaction was what he was going to get.

“Well, if I had to describe you in one word,” she paused noticing how he quirked up slightly at that, “I’d say…” and that was how she ended up being trapped by his arms, victim to his kisses and fingertips digging into the flesh on her sides.

“I’m not annoying, love.” He said, finally loosening his grip on her, but when she made no effort to move he kept his arm draped loosely over her hips, keeping her back pushed against his chest.

“Lies,” she basically hissed the word at him leaving him with a cocky smirk that she had to strain her neck to see.

Because he was annoying.

It was literally just this morning that he had annoyed her.

“Draco,” her voice echoed throughout the house and Draco put down his spoon to yell back, “What?”

He was at the dining table, eating a second breakfast, and he swallowed his cereal as he heard her footsteps thundering down the stairs.

“Did I leave my lip balm down there?” Her voice was slightly less loud as she made her way to him, confident she had left it on the table when they ate breakfast together. Or, Draco’s first breakfast together.

Draco’s eyes didn’t take long to land on the cylinder, stood up right in front of where his pretty wife had been sitting minutes ago. He quickly snatched it into his hand, securing it in his palm before she appeared in front of him.

“Haven’t seen it,” he mumbled, grabbing his spoon in his free hand to shove more cereal in his mouth, hoping it would prevent him from giving himself away.

“Really?” She asked, making her way over to the kitchen, “I could’ve sworn I left it here.” He could hear her moving around various objects and sighing when she gave up and moved to the living room.

“It’s literally just a white cylinder, are you sure you haven’t seen it?” She made her voice louder to reach him from the other room where he could hear her rummaging around the lounge, no doubt seeing if it had fallen into one of the many crevices. Why? He wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been there this morning.

“I know what your lip balm looks like,” he replied moodily. He heard her huff and when he looked back up from his bowl she was standing in front of him. Good to see she could be quiet when she wanted to be.

“You have it.”

“What?” Draco dropped his spoon again, said lip balm burning a hole through his palm.

“You have it.” And within seconds she was directly in front of him. But Draco was quicker and he had risen to his full height, putting his traitorous hand behind him as his chair made a loud scraping noise against their floor.

“Show me your hand.” She moved to grab his hand hiding behind his back but he turned so she couldn’t reach.

“You need to work on your reflexes, babe.”

“You need to stop acting like a child, babe,” she mimicked.

She had her hands folded across her chest, hoping to catch him by surprise when she made to move again.

He was looking down at her with a horrid smirk, her squinted eyes and downward curve of her lips only serving to make it stronger.

“Give it to me,” she whined, suddenly making a move to grab it. Draco had let his guard down ever so slightly, distracted by her pretty face and this time when she went to grab it, her fingers brushed his knuckle.

But Draco needed to make sure she couldn’t reach it so this time, his arm went above his head and he knew it was the right move when she whined once more, “Draco.” She dragged out the last vowel of his name and made a slight movement that looked like her stamping her foot in the ground in annoyance.

“Why are you like this?”

Draco only shrugged his shoulders, making her huff as she brought her arms around her chest once more.

When he didn’t say anything, she continued.

“I’m not going to beg for it.”

“But you sound so pretty when you do.” She scoffed at him and his stupid smirk and his stupid lanky height that meant there was no way for her to reach it without jumping. And even that would be a stretch.

“Draco Malfoy, I swear-“ but she never finished because he got an awful twinkle in his eye when she said his full name and she wasn’t having it. She took a step towards him and reached to the very tip of her toes to try and grab it.

Her hand only reached his wrist.

“You’re such a child.” She groaned, straining to reach even further. Draco brought his head back slightly to look at her determined face trying to and grab the lip balm, still secure in his palm.

She gave up trying to reach and instead wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tried with all her might to drag it down.

She let out a soft groan that made Draco chuckle.

“Maybe if you’d ask nicely I’d give it to you.”

Draco was sure the devil himself had taken the place of his pretty wife with the dirty look he was on the receiving end of.

“Draco,” she said, dropping her hold on his wrist and taking the tiniest of steps back.

“Yes, my love.”

“Can I please have my lip balm?” Her voice was steady and Draco knew that she was fighting her own mind not to scream and shout until she got her way.

“Well, because you asked so nicely.” He dropped his hand, but still put it behind his back as he lent down to press a soft kiss to her pouting lips.

When he pulled back she was giving him an impatient look, her palm out, waiting for him to give it back to her.

Still smirking, he put it in her hand, quickly pulling his hand away when her fingers wrapped around it and she snatched it away. Huffing as she made her way back up the stairs.

“A thank you would be nice,” Draco yelled out, going back to his soggy cereal and chuckling when a string of profanities floated all the way to his ears.

She was quick to remind him of this incident now that they were in bed and Draco still stood by the fact that he was not annoying.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that was annoying,” he argued, with her back still against his chest. She rolled her eyes, grateful that he couldn’t see.

“I would.”

“I was just teasing,” he insisted and she scoffed. “You know I would’ve given it back to you.”

He was partially right, he did like to tease her, but teasing her was annoying.

It was only that weekend that that had gone to a house party with some friends from high school. Everyone was taking advantage of the summer months, and most of them were sitting outside, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon without the sun blaring down on them.

She had been inside for the last hour or so, trying to avoid any red flesh and catching up with some old friends, but when the noticed the guilty star had left the sky, they started to make their way out.

She noticed immediately that there weren’t going to be enough chairs, so she happily made her way over to Draco and sat on his lap.

He was halfway through a conversation with someone and even though he didn’t explicitly acknowledge her presence, he still manoeuvred his body so she could make herself comfortable. And once she stopped wriggling all over him, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She was happy sitting there, sipping her drink, laughing at whatever her friends said, and enjoying the way the scent of her boyfriend overtook her senses.

Halfway through one of their stories she felt something crawling on her arm and with a quiet groan she twitched in Draco’s lap, flicking the intruder away.

“What’s wrong, lovey?” Draco bent down to whisper in her ear so as not to disrupt the conversation and draw attention to them.

“The bugs are eating me alive,” she huffed, repositioning herself so she was half draped over his lap.

“Can’t blame them,” he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, “you taste so good.”

She gave him an unimpressed look and the edge of his lips quirked up in a familiar smirk before their attentions went back to the conversation.

Every now and then she’d twitch whenever a crawling trespasser appeared on her skin. Each instance followed by a huff and a sigh from the pretty girl resting on Draco’s lap.

Draco was trying his best to defend his girlfriend, removing his hand from her waist to wave it around anytime a bug even dared to look at her and keeping a loose arm around her so she could wriggle and swat away whenever she pleased. But for some reason, the bugs had chosen his pretty girl to annoy tonight, and no one was as in tune with her annoyance as he was.

That’s why he thought what he was about to do was risky. She was already annoyed, but it wasn’t at the hands of him, so he figured he’d do it anyway.

When the conversation had started to die down and people turned to the others around them, starting their own private conversations, Draco turned down to his wife and started a conversation with her.

She was happily chatting away, and Draco was listening intently. He promised. But when she got towards the end of her sentence and took a breath, Draco purposefully furrowed his eyebrows together.

He noticed immediately the increase of diameter of her pretty eyes and the way she froze ever so slightly in his lap.

“What’s that?” He asked, flicking his head up in the direction of her own.

“What’s what?” Her voice had risen an octave and Draco was glad the rest of the group were talking over each other loud enough to drown her out.

“That,” Draco said again, subtly taking his hand away from the valley of her spine. “I think,” he paused and got the desired effect with the look of fright she was giving him, “there’s a,” she was frozen on his lap, “a bug on you.” And as he finished the world’s longest sentence his fingertips found her neck and a tiny squeal left her lips as she contorted her body into his, naive to think she’d find safety with him.

She could feel his whole body shake as he let out a strong laugh, his arms returning around her waist and locking her into his grasp as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I hate you so much.”

Draco could feel her pulse and he almost felt bad for causing her such annoyance, but when she strained her neck to frown at him, a hard crease between her pretty eyes, he couldn’t help the boyish smirk that enveloped his face.

“Liar,” he retorted, not missing the way she clung to him when she thought there was danger.

“I apologised for that,” Draco whined, now in bed. Similarly pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she recalled just how annoying his teasing was.

He did feel bad for it. He didn’t think it would upset her that much. He just wanted to upset her slightly.

“Still annoying,” she grumbled, refusing to look back up at him.

“C’mon,” Draco continued, a tinge of a whine tainting his tone, “you love being teased.”

She rolled her eyes at his poor attempt of a double entendre.

But this time he was telling the truth.

It was only last week when this had occurred.

They had only been married for a couple of months after almost a year of being engaged, but their house was in the works the second Draco proposed to her so they would have somewhere to go when a permanent gold band rested where their fourth finger on their left hand came in contact with the knuckle.

Draco was at her house, going over the plans to ensure she was happy with anything. She was listening. Partly. She trusted Draco.

"Oh," he added as well, knowing that he didn't have her complete attention, "we also have to decide if we want a pool."

"Obviously," she scoffed, knowing by the way that the corner of his mouth tugged upward that he was just trying to get her involved.

Because Draco knew he wanted a pool, and he was glad for it when they woke up to the sun peaking through their window, waking them up and inviting them to join it outside while they played in the pool.

Draco was already in, unbothered by the wait of his pretty wife who took slightly longer to get ready. And the wait was worth it when she came out in a two-piece which Draco really thought was an overstatement considering how little of her was covered.

She swayed her hips on purpose, noticing the slight part in her husband's pretty lips, doing a faux pose when she reached the pool that made Draco clear his throat.

"You look good."

"I know," she beamed at him cheekily, throwing her towel on the chair next to his and tying her hair up in a high bun. "I'm not in the mood to get my hair wet today, I'm too lazy to wash it."

Draco didn't say anything, but she didn't give it a second thought knowing that his eyes were preoccupied.

Draco floated over to the stairs as she made her way in, letting out a little squeal as her feet touched the first step.

"It's so cold!"

"You can't be serious." Draco let out a small chuckle as she placed her weight from one foot to the other.

"I'm very serious, Draco," she whined, finding the courage to go to the next step.

It was up to her calves, and she was going against the water as she kicked her legs out, trying to acclimatise to the new temperature.

Draco, already knowing he consequences of his actions, placed his hands in the water and flicked it over at her.

"Draco!" She had put her hands out in a poor attempt to save herself from his attack and bent a leg up towards herself in some sort of defence.

He laughed.

"Stop being such a baby." She gave him a pout that very much reminded him of a baby.

But she took no note of her husband’s rude comments and instead put her hands in the water to splash him back. 

“C’mon, yours was much bigger than mine.” Draco rolled his eyes, running a hand through his now wet hair and putting his hands back in the water. 

“Draco Malfoy if you dare-”

She was already folding in on herself, but she never felt the splash or got to finish her statement because Draco had cut her off. 

“C’mon darling, I promise I won’t splash you if you just get in.” 

She put her hands down slowly, not sure how much she should trust the blonde haired boy giving her a sly grin. 

“I don’t trust you,” she said, her actions betraying her words as she took another step down. It reached just above her bottom piece and Draco heard her take a sharp breath in as a couple of goosebumps erupted on her lotioned skin. 

One more step to go.

“I promise I won’t splash you.” He had an odd look of sincerity on his face, but she made sure to keep eye contact with him as she placed her hands in the water and brought them to the tops of her shoulders in an attempt to let her body become familiar with the cool liquid.

She went to the next step. She took in a shaky breath, moving on the spot in a hurried motion to try to bring some warmth to her body. 

“One more step, love, c’mon.” Draco opened his arms in an attempt to get her into his embrace. 

“I swear, Draco, if you splash me,” she trailed off, letting her foot fall off the last step and pushing her body towards his arms. 

He grabbed onto her, his hands roaming around her hips as he bent his head down to press a kiss to her pretty lips. 

“Yeah,” he said, pulling away with a slight breathlessness, “you’ll what?” He lent back to kiss her, unashamed, he knew he was in trouble the second he saw her enter the backyard in her little bikini that didn’t leave a lot to his imagination. 

“I-I’ll,” she forced herself to pull away even though she wanted nothing more than to kiss her pretty husband until their skin shrivelled from the water. But Draco had other plans, because when she was looking at him, a soft look in her eyes from the way he had kissed her, he decided this was the perfect time.

His fingers locked around her waist and the last thing he saw was her pretty eyes widen as he pulled her under the water with him.

He knew he’d never hear the end of it the second he brought them to the surface and she let out a couple of dramatic coughs.

“Are you trying to kill me?” She shrieked, blinking the water out of her eyes and pushing his shoulders ever so slightly with the butt of her palm. His arms were still locked around her waist and he had no intention of letting go.

All he did was laugh in response, flicking his blonde hair out of his eyes and leaning down to pepper kisses all over her slimey face. All he could taste was her sunscreen and she kept twisting in his grasp and trying to pull her face away from him, but he continued his attack bravely.

“Hey,” he said, letting out a chuckle despite the grumpy look on her pretty face, “I only promised not to splash you.”

She wanted to scream. Instead, she splashed him back.

“Well, I never promised not to splash you.” She said indignantly in a way that reminded Draco of a child.

“Ah,” he said, much too arrogantly for her taste, “is that how you want to play?” He removed his hands around her waist to splash at her, but even though she knew what was coming, she didn’t step away from him.

“Nuh uh,” she whined, turning her head to avoid the water coming into contact with her face, “you promised you wouldn’t splash me.”

“Well, I take it back.” It was then she decided that she hated Draco’s height. She used to admire it, loved how he towered over almost anyone in any room. But now, she came to realise that his arms were much too long, because before she even got the chance to splash him back he had reached out and grabbed onto her hips, pulling her closer to him and bringing her with him under the water once more.

This time she gave him a good shove on the shoulder while they were under the water, but she wondered if Draco even noticed with the way his hands were squeezing her hips and grabbing at her flesh.

It was only when he brought them to the surface that she realised he was trying to find the string keeping her bikini bottom up and once again, she cursed his long fingers for quickly untying the double knot.

“Draco!” Her hands left his shoulders to grab onto her swimmers before Draco got any other ideas, but Draco was quick and in one swift movement he grabbed both of her hands in his.

She wriggled against him, but movement only made the swimmers pull away from her skin so instead she gave him a defeated look.

He was laughing manically, his chest rumbling at her predicament and the pretty pout that was gracing her pretty lips.

In another swift movement he turned her around so her back was against his chest and her hands were still locked up in Draco’s large hand jail, but the movement was not her friend because with his other free hand, Draco had grabbed the traitorous bottom and thrown it out of the pool, quick to bring it to the front and give her top the same treatment.

He was taking his time, kissing all over her neck, trying to get her to succumb to his pleasures, but she was strong-willed and it was only the way her voice gave a slight tremble at the end of her sentence that gave her away.

“You’re so annoying.”

Draco was now kissing her neck in a similar fashion, but she wasn’t going to give in.

“Thought you liked it then?” He teased, his voice low from the late hour and soft due to their proximity.

“I mean it was alright.” Draco could tell by the slight quiver of her voice and lack of comeback that his little neck kisses were getting to her.

“Do you want to try another word, darling?”

But while the kisses may have softened her, she was still able to respond with, “romantic.”

Because he was.

The only reason she was looking for her lip balm was because he was taking her out for lunch.

And when she came down, all dressed up for him, she twirled on the spot, loving the soft look in his eyes compared to the mischievous twinkle he had worn trying to get a reaction out of her.

They were sitting across from each other and when she rested her hand on the table, Draco took it in his own and neither arm was strong enough to move from its position.

While they waited for the server to come over, she used her free hand to rifle through her bag and when she found the desired lipstick and started putting it on, Draco squinted his eyes at her.

“What?”

“I want to ask you a question.” She gave a seconds pause before putting her lipstick away and facing her pretty husband.

“I’m scared.”

He disregarded her comment and asked, “what’s in your bag?”

“My bag?” She gave him a confused look, losing the warmth of his palm as she grabbed her bag for a second time. The very expensive bag Draco had bought for her only a month or so ago because she had made a trivial comment about how pretty it was when they first walked past it.

She opened it and showed it to him, he was her husband, she had nothing to hide.

Draco liked what he saw. Lipstick, a little mirror, the perfume she usually wore in a small cylindrical glass, and the lip balm he had teased her about this morning.

“What if I forgot the card at home?” he chuckled, his smile only intensifying at the confused look on his pretty girl’s face.

“The credit card?”

“What other card, darling?” The smirk on his face told her he was telling a fib, but she still asked, “did you?”

She never got her response though as the server politely interrupted the conversation, causing her to close her bag back up and listen to Draco repeat what she had told him she wanted from the menu.

The fact that he was ordering told her all she needed to know about the card situation, but she still continued the conversation as if there had been no interruption.

“In all honesty, I stopped bringing money with me after, like, our second month of going out.”

This made Draco let out a laugh that was an inappropriate volume given their surroundings, but the couple didn’t notice.

When Draco calmed down, he put his hand back on the table and she reached out to hold onto it.

“Good,” he said, bringing their intertwined hands towards him to press a row of soft kisses along her knuckles.

When he had frightened her over the bug situation, he kissed and doted on her the rest of the afternoon, feeling bad that he had upset her so greatly.

When her cup was empty he placed her on his seat and went inside to fill it back up for her. Lifting her back onto his lap when he returned.

When they arrived home he had her silk robe waiting for her the second her foot stepped out of the shower and he happily had her sit on the edge of the bathtub as he completed her skincare.

“You know,” she said, giving him the saddest look she could muster, “I was so scared when you pretended there was a bug on me, it really tired me out, I don’t think I can do my skincare.” He let out a large scoff, even though she was still frowning, giving him a faux innocent look with her silk robe wrapped tightly around her.

“C’mere,” he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub but reached out to grab her fingertips, bringing her closer to him so he could sit her on the edge next to him, “you big baby.”

And even after he played with her pretty hair until she fell asleep, he still felt bad. He let out a sigh as he begrudgingly got out of the comfortable bed and once he was outside of their room he called for the house elf and instructed him to get a bunch of her favourite flowers before they woke up.

Draco found that he fell asleep quite easily after he had settled that matter and his arms were wrapped around the waist of his pretty wife.

But he was disgruntled when he woke up hours later to find said pretty wife sitting on the edge of the bed, a small white card in her hand that he assumed belonged to the bunch of her favourite flowers that the house elf had delivered.

He lazily trailed his fingertips down her spine, enjoying the way she jolted at his touch.

“Come back to bed, lovey.” When she put the card down and turned around she found Draco’s arm sprawled out to the side from where he had let it linger on her skin. His eyes were still closed and his hair was sticking on his forehead.

She leant over to smooth it away from his pretty face and when he brought his arm back up she gingerly found her way back to him, his arm coming back down the second he was satisfied she was comfortable.

And it was after they christened the pool that she started to whine about her wet hair.

“I told you I didn’t want to wash it.” Draco wished he had a couple more minutes before her attitude came back, but was quick to remember he was the reason she was in a mood and so he kept that thought to himself.

She was behind him while Draco swam to the edge to receive the two pieces he had meanly thrown out of reach.

“I’m not getting them,” she had scoffed at his reply when she said she needed her swimmers back to which Draco pointed to the edge of the pool where they were sprawled haphazardly. “I’m naked,” she whispered as if it was a sin worse than what had just occurred in their own swimming pool.

“I’ll wash it for you,” he grumbled throwing her swimmers at her. She wasn’t quick enough to grab them so they floated on the surface of the water. She picked up the bottoms and started tying the knots in the appropriate places.

“Really?” She asked, Draco already swimming back to her, picking her top up and redoing the knots he had cruelly untied moments before.

“Of course my love.”

And that was how she found herself sitting in between his legs, warm water filling their bathtub with rose petals tickling her calves and the smoke of a coconut candle making its way into her nose.

She let out a hum as Draco’s fingertips circled her scalp. She let her head fall back so she could look up at him and he was quick to place a quick kiss on her forehead before gently pushing her head up so he could continue his service.

“You spoil me.” Draco liked when she whined and pouted and screeched whenever he found a new way to annoy her, but more than anything he loved the content in her tone knowing that he would always look after her. No matter how much he annoyed her.

“Romantic sounds better,” Draco hummed, leaning down to press some more kisses along her jaw.

But she was brave and she pulled away so she could turn around and face her lovely husband.

She ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a way that brought a grin to what Draco thought was her precious face.

How lucky she was, really, to have such a beautiful husband. Who, despite his teasing, made sure that she was treated like royalty. Who would never let her worry about a single thing if he had his way and who made sure she knew he loved her, even if he liked to annoy her. Who called her beautiful even when she called him annoying.

“And handsome,” she whispered, bringing her hand to his soft cheek, not missing the way he leaned into her touch, “so handsome.”

[myusuchaa]

Elbert Greetia & Countess Greetia

With Your Lips on Mine

༊*·˚ Ikemen Villains: Black Wedding 5* Card Lines

(not the full event story, only includes card lines)

i do not own anything, Cybird has the right of ownership for all in-game material

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It always seemed like, no matter how much of her I took for myself, my greed only deepened.

Even at the ceremony, I’d wanted to steal her away, so no one else could look at her.

I’d wanted to claim her as my own, so no one else could have her.

Now, her jet-black gown was disheveled, a stark contrast against the white sheets and her flushed skin.

Her wedding lilies were scattered around us, the bouquet crushed in our haste as soon as we'd swept into the room.

(So often, I doubt my own judgment, but...)

I took hold of her black veil, still clinging to her hair, and touched a kiss to the fabric.

Then, I drew her hand to me and pressed my lips to the ring on her finger.

(She's so beautiful...)

“Everything you put on seems to sparkle. The dress, our rings, and… you. You’ve never been more radiant.”

Her fingertips played lightly with the undone bowtie hanging around my neck.

MC voice: "I'm yours now. And you're mine. It still feels like a dream..."

She entwined her fingers with mine, our matching rings sparkling in the light.

Smiling, she leaned in and kissed me. It was soft, gentle... pure.

A sweet and tempting promise, just like a wedding kiss.

And it wasn't nearly enough.

Her breath hitched when I deepened the kiss, as if begging for more.

With her lips on mind, I pulled her closer to me and pinned her to the bed again...

...to drown us both in greed once more.

“I know you can never be fully mine. Nor can I ever fully belong to you, so I ask… please stay by side. Always, until the day we die.”

fin

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

extras below

translation: Countess Greetia, y/n

screenshot from JP Black Wedding Oath and Jet Black Bride CE

a/n: ..it has such a beautiful ‘ring’ to it. I love how El always calls you by your name too ♡ i wish i had a silver ring that matched!

[theyrealllesbians]

"Oh, and James? Are you bringing a date?" silver flashed in front of James's eyes, "I only ask because everyone has been asking me if you've met anyone!"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"You might want to rethink that kid. You know how your mother's family can be once they sense a bit of drama." James shuddered a little at the thought of answering a hundred questions about his love life after he'd drank a couple glasses of wine.

"Oh, come of it. My family is not like that. They all just care about James's happiness, that's all. Don't make it out to be something cruel." His mum sniped back. His dad only looked at James again, a long pointed look.

"I'll think about it." James said. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to find a date, if only for a couple weddings.

"Oh! Does that mean you already have someone in mind?" His mum swung her head round so she could look at James. Walking forward to grip his forearms.

"Mum!" He exclaimed, "I just said that I would think about it!" The feeling of fluffy black hair beneath his fingertips coursed through his nerves.

"Oh! You're blushing! There is someone!" His mum was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

"Mum…" James groaned, hanging his head.

a little snippet from chapter 2!!!

I honestly think this chapter is so sweet and cosy, I'm so excited to release it so that you can all read it!!

[swiftie-as-a-coursing-river]

Kanej hobbies headcanon:

When she’s away at sea, Inej takes up knitting to pass the time. She gets really good at it.

As she’s on her way to visit Kaz and Wesper in Ketterdam she decides to knit Kaz some gloves

She makes sure to make the stitches bigger at the fingertips so he can still lockpick.

When she gives them to him he almost passes away right there on the spot.

He tells her, “This is the best gift I’ve ever been given” and she feels almost giddy

Kaz never takes them off.

After she leaves again, he decides to learn how to draw so he can capture her image while she’s away.

He’s actually really good at it, but there’s always something ever so slightly off that frustrates him. Eventually he gives up.

The next time Inej is in Ketterdam he asks her to teach him how to knit.

It’s frustrating but Inej helps him stay calm and eventually, he gets quite good.

Inej is the only one who knows he knits and he knows she’ll keep it a secret.

He likes knitting bc “you can hurt someone with a knitting needle.”

He always keeps a knitting needle up his sleeve with his other weapons

He makes gifts for all of the dregs, but no one knows it’s him.

When Inej is asked if it’s her, she just laughs and walks away

When Nina is asked about it she says it’s not her but she doesn’t know who it is

As the years go by and Kaz becomes more comfortable with touch, the gloves from Inej slowly become fingerless gloves, and then none at all.

He also gets really into sewing and is a MENACE with a sewing machine.

Inej gets really good at embroidery.

They make a lot of clothes for the other crows. Especially Wylan and Jesper.

When Kaz and Inej get engaged he decides he wants to make her wedding dress.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s making it because he wants to surprise her.

However, it’s not turning out how he wants, it’s not perfect.

Inej notices how agitated he is and knows something is up

The moment she confronted him he breaks and confesses bc he can’t lie to Inej.

Inej is both annoyed and also speechless.

She’s annoyed bc she literally has been searching for the perfect dress for months with Nina.

But that annoyance disappears quickly bc the dress Kaz made is literally perfect, it’s everything she was looking for.

Also at the same time he confesses about the drawings to.

She thinks they’re perfect and hangs all of them up.

Other couples:

Wesper

Helnik

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 16

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 |-| Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

AO3

Warnings: Some angst but mostly WE'RE SO BACK

Word Count: 4.7k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs @ginabaker1666

The ATS depot was quiet once more, crickets chirping in the long grass beside the road as Frankie worked away, squinting up at the underside of the jeep she was lying underneath, a pair of pliers clutched in one filthy hand. In the two weeks since The Riveters had gone down, she hadn't touched a plane, let alone stepped foot inside one. Her father had told her to do what she could. But she couldn't go anywhere near a bomber without thinking of what might have happened to Rosie - how scared he might have felt. The feeling made her want to vomit.

"I just think, y'know, that she needs to butt out and mind her business," Ken shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the tarmac beside the car as he picked at his sandwich, ready and waiting by the toolbox for her to have need of him.

"Oh, one hundred per cent. I mean, Helen didn't invite her, I know Gwen didn't - wrench," Frankie interrupted her own gossiping, holding out her hand as Ken pressed the tool into her palm. "No, not that one, the 5 - thanks. But yeah, fucking out of order. It's like Charlotte's wedding all over again."

"... Frankie you didn't go to that."

"I know. But I hang around the ATS now, I'm learning a lotta shit."

Ken opened his mouth to speak again, but his jaw snapped shut at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, turning to stare as George jogged towards them. There was a letter clutched in her hand, sweat beading on her brow as she approached.

He hadn't seen her running like that since...

"Frankie," He uttered urgently, slamming her toolbox shut.

"One sec," Her muffled voice came from beneath the car.

"No - now."

She felt his fist wrap around her ankle, tugging roughly until she finally relented, sliding out from her spot as she wiped a hand across her forehead. "God's sake, what-" Then she saw it too. "...George?"

"Frankie!" George cried, hurrying towards them as the pair scrambled to their feet, brows drawn in identical stares of confusion. When she'd first spotted her, Frankie had felt a jolt of fear shoot through her, panic rising in her chest. But the closer she came... she was smiling.

A huffed groan escaped Frankie as George collided with her, slamming her body against hers as she threw an arm around her shoulders, the other hand pressing the crumpled letter into her chest. Wide-eyed, she glanced back at Ken, who could offer nothing more than a shrug as George pulled away, still beaming.

"George, wh-" Frankie trailed off, pausing to unfurl the letter. But before she could even make out its first line, George was blurting the words.

"He's alive."

The air was unceremoniously punched from her lungs, ripped away so suddenly that she could do nothing more than croak.

"Frankie. Rosie's alive."

She looked down at the page, but found that her vision was suddenly blurred with tears, the letters merging into an indiscernible smudge. Ken was laughing, his laughter turning to whooping as he enveloped George in an embrace, the two spinning slightly on their heels as they wore matching grins, consumed by the euphoria of knowing it wasn't over. Frankie still couldn't quite breathe, pins and needles pricking at her fingertips once again as her heart pumped out of her chest. Everything was moving so fast - so uncontrollably, wonderfully fast that she wasn't sure how much longer she could go without losing consciousness.

"He's... He's alive?" She asked, barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah," George smiled, nodding as she raised her hands to cup Frankie's face, keeping their gazes locked. "He landed behind the Russian line - I dunno where he is right now, but he's coming home, Frank."

Finally, Frankie let herself smile, something between a sob and a laugh tearing its way out of her.

"He's alive," She breathed, collapsing against George in another embrace as she began to weep, smiling even as tears streamed down her cheeks, clutching at her friend so tightly it was as if she were keeping her from shattering, holding every piece of her together at once.

He wasn't gone. That future of hers, which she'd come to take for granted, wasn't gone. She'd been making do - powering through even when she didn't want to, accepting that nothing would ever get as good as it had been. But now it was. Now he was coming back, and it didn't matter if it took a day or a year, because she was going to see him again.

She was going to see him again, and she was gonna marry the hell outta him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tucking and re-tucking her hair behind her ears over and over again, muttering curses under her breath because why the fuck did it always look wrong? Why couldn't she get it to fall the way it usually did - and why did she care? Frankie Bevan had never once been concerned with appearance or vanity, but suddenly this was the most important thing in the world to her, and the more she untucked and re-tucked her hair, the more she wanted to burst into tears.

"Frank," George spoke softly from where she had been hovering in the doorway, watching silently for the last few minutes.

"It doesn't look right," She complained, frowning back at her tired reflection. "Why doesn't it look right? It never looks like this."

"It... looks like it always does."

Frankie gnawed at her lip slightly as she blinked away the tears, embarrassed that they were even forming. "He'll notice the difference."

"Frank," She scolded. "He will not give a single shit. I promise you, there is literally nothing Rosie cares about less right now than what your fucking hair looks like."

She'd refused to go out to meet him - refused to reunite in front of dozens of crewmen, all aching to congratulate him on his return. She wouldn't deprive the men of that moment, but there was nothing she wanted less than to insert herself into it. She needed to do this part alone.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she walked towards the infirmary, each step feeling like she was treading water, seaweed tangled around her ankles and tugging her downwards. For a regular afternoon in March, this sure was the hardest and bravest thing she'd ever done. But why? Why was she terrified to step inside, to see her Rosie?

Because what if he wasn't her Rosie?

What if whatever had happened to him in the month he'd been gone had changed something, flicked some switch inside him that she couldn't turn off?

And - least rational, but most terrifying of all - what if he didn't need her anymore?

It was as if the air had been sucked from the room the moment she stepped foot in the infirmary, freezing in the doorway as she spotted him, sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to her. The doctor seemed to gesture towards her before swiftly making his exit, and as Rosie turned to her, indescribable relief washed over his expression, the tears welling in his eyes visible even from this distance. He leapt off of the bed without hesitation, choking on his words as he hurried towards her. "Frankie-"

It had been keeping her up at night - the realisation that she had no idea what she'd say to him in this moment. But in the end, it hadn't mattered, for the second he uttered that first word to her, she had burst into tears, falling against him as his arms were held out to her.

"I thought you were dead," She sobbed, heaving in a breath so forceful it rubbed her throat raw.

"I know, baby, I'm so sorry," Rosie uttered against her ear, and from the way his voice tremored, shoulders shaking, she knew he was crying too.

Frankie pulled away, although every muscle in her body was screaming at her to never let go, and she gave herself a moment to really take him in, brushing the curls away from his face as she began to smile, every line and dimple in his skin precisely where she'd left them. Unwrapping her arms from around his body, she lifted her hands to his cheeks, wiping with the soft pad of her thumb at the tears that had begun to fall. "... You're ok?"

"I'm okay," He nodded hurriedly, wrapping his hands around her wrists as he rubbed gently at the skin, simply holding her in place, desperate to feel her against him again. "... I told 'em all about you."

Her head tilted to the side slightly in question. "Who?"

Rosie chuckled. "Anyone who'd listen." A grin broke its way across her face, and she leaned in to press her lips against his, tasting the salt of tears on her tongue as she did - though whose they were she couldn't tell. His hand was in her hair, the other on her back, melting against her as if they could merge into one, blurring into each other until there was nothing left of the individual self. It was as if his palms had welded to her skin, so resistant were they to ever break apart, foreheads pressed together once they finally came up for air.

"I'll tell you everything," He breathed. "One day."

Whatever had happened, he was haunted by it. She could feel it in the way his fingers trembled against her, the way his eyelids fluttered, shielding his gaze from having to meet hers when he spoke of it. But then their gazes locked, his breath fanning her face, and a gentle smile curled Frankie's lip, her thumb skirting across his cheek.

"Tell me when you're ready. I just need you here."

He smiled in a shaky mirror of her own, pressing another kiss to her lips, which she accepted with a hum, beaming up at him as it came to an end. Despite the exhaustion tugging at his features, Rosie managed a smirk.

"Y'know, I seem to remember you making me a promise last time I saw you."

Frankie let out a low chuckle, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You sure? I'm not sure I remember, sorry."

He grinned, cupping her jaw in his palms. "Think you need a reminder?"

"Might be an idea," She nodded. Their heads tilted towards one another, their noses brushing slightly.

"Well, in that case... Frankie Bevan, will you marry me?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They wasted so little time that it was a miracle the wedding came together at all, a hurriedly thrown together affair in the slightly shabby village hall, as it was the only venue they could find close by that wasn't a church. George had leapt into action as if it were her life's very purpose, exiling Blakely on a one-man mission to bring Frankie's father whilst she set to work decorating and haggling to secure as much food as possible. Frankie had never been one for these sorts of things - she wasn't an organiser or a decorator - she had no sense for aesthetics nor taste for formalities. But what she could do was watch George take the reigns, sinking in her element, and accompany her with an open mind and excited smile as everything fell into place.

"Aha!" Frankie declared, holding up a hand in victory as she retrieved the only dress in her possession from the bottom of one of her suitcases. A navy blue tea dress, she'd almost lost count of how many times she'd tried to get rid of it, only for George to intervene, warning her that someday it might come of use. As always, she had been right.

"This works, right?"

"This works," George nodded in confirmation. "As long as you iron out the creases - that's your job while I go make sure Croz has got the rings I sent him for."

Frankie chuckled, splaying the dress flat across her bed. "This delegation stuff seems to be going well, then."

"Well, that's what happens when you ask for a wedding in four fucking days, Frank," George grinned somewhat sarcastically, already on her way out as she spoke, a clipboard with a checklist firmly planted beneath her arm. It was a wonder she had managed to organise anything at all with all the work they still had to do - although Blakely would later inform her that George hadn't done much of her job at all in those four days, spending most of her office hours wrangling anyone willing to help and dishing out tasks. If anything, she could be sure that George's own wedding would be a sight to behold.

When the day itself arrived, Frankie found that she couldn't have cared less what she was wearing or how she looked, scarcely sparing a glance at the mirror as she paced the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. Her father, George and Alice crowded the room, chattering amongst themselves and practically ignoring Frankie as she wandered around, grinning giddily - she suspected they hoped she'd tire herself out, as if she were an overactive toddler who'd had too much sugar.

"Where's Jill?" She asked, suddenly pausing in her strides as she noticed an empty chair, the little girl nowhere to be seen.

"With Rosie," Alice shrugged. "She wanted to be a groomsman instead."

Frankie and George let out matching snorts, exchanging a smile. Of course - it shouldn't have surprised her. Since the day she'd first brought Rosie into the house, Jill was gone, utterly uninterested in anyone else. It was charming really, quite how quickly he managed to endear himself - to get under people's skin and stay there, comfortably familiar.

"Traitor," Frankie teased, attempting to balance on the heel of one shoe. A sudden, sharp knock at the door made them all start, Frankie almost falling over as she wobbled for balance, watching George hurry to answer it.

"Hi!" Ken whispered, prying his face through the tiny gap in the doorway as far as he could. "You look pretty!" He declared, shooting Frankie a thumbs-up.

"D'you need something?" George asked.

He paused momentarily, as if uncertain. "Oh, yeah. We're ready for you in there."

Frankie grinned so hard her teeth were beginning to hurt, reaching out to help her father to his feet. He accepted her hand with a smile, patting her arm affectionately as he hauled himself up with a grunt. "You ready?" He asked.

"God yeah," She scoffed, feeling him squeeze her shoulder. She could see it in his eyes that every step was its own private torture. That goddamn leg had never fit him properly, not since the day he'd come back from the Somme and they'd first strapped it onto him in some shabby hospital. He'd always told her that it had felt fine at the time, but she'd never quite believed him - especially not when she discovered the attending nurse had been her own mother. Frankie suspected a certain amount of bravado had been involved in the decision.

"You sure you've got this?" She asked quietly as they shuffled out, voice hushed to ensure no one overheard.

"Love. I'm not missing this for anything," He beamed, and Frankie nodded, knocking her head gently against his shoulder as they reached the end of the corridor, opening out into the main hall.

All eyes were on her the second she entered the room, but all she saw was Rosie - waiting in his dress uniform, hands folded at his front, smiling so wide she thought he might pass out, tears welling in his eyes visible even from the other end of the hall. Frankie raised a hand, offering a wave before she could think better of it, and from the way his grin parted she could tell he was laughing, even if she couldn't hear it from here. She found her gaze wandering towards her father, tracking his feet as they walked until he pinched at her arm, a silent reminder not to worry about him. She could have moved a million miles away, but she'd never stop worrying about him, never stop looking to him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.

She wished Bucky were here.

As they reached the front of the room, her father squeezed her hand, departing with a smile and a nod and an affectionate pat on Rosie's shoulder, taking his seat without a word.

"Hi," Frankie smiled, voice scarcely even a whisper.

Rosie chuckled, his face flushed scarlet. "Hello."

She swore she must have zoned out for most of the ceremony, too distracted by the excited thumping of her own heart, for when Rosie began to speak it was as if she'd been jolted awake from a deep sleep, blinking in a rapid burst. He held both of her hands in his, squeezing her palms as she met his gaze, lips twisting slightly as if trying to restrain himself from grinning.

"Honey-"

"One sec," Frankie interjected before he could speak his vows, the room falling to awkward silence. For a split second, he looked terrified, and she wanted to scream at how poorly she'd handled the interruption. "... Could we do this bit on our own?"

His lips parted in a smile, beaming down at her as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah - George?"

George was on it before they even had to ask, suppressing a grin as she rose to her feet, herding the other guests out into the hallway until only the pair of them remained. As Jill passed, she frowned at Frankie with such outrage one might have guessed she'd witnessed some sort of heinous crime, but she exited without protest nonetheless. Left alone in the village hall, the room became an echo chamber, the sound bouncing off every wall as Frankie let out a snort.

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe I did that."

Rosie shrugged. "I think it's a nice touch."

"Ok - go, go," She nodded hurriedly, squeezing his hands in return as she bounced on the balls of her feet slightly in a way that made him chuckle.

He opened his mouth, taking a deep breath. Then he stopped.

"Can I be honest with you? I think I just forgot everything I'd written down."

They both began to laugh, leaning forward and only narrowly avoiding headbutting each other in the face. Frankie couldn't stop grinning, cheeks burning red as she nodded. "I lost the piece of paper I'd written mine on this morning - George thought I'd be able to come up with something on the fly, but I don't think I'm that good."

"Is that why you wanted everyone to leave?" Rosie asked, skin creasing with the weight of his smile.

"... A little," She admitted with another snort, and he let out a burst of laughter. "Just make something up, honey, it's good."

He nodded along, squeezing her hands in a vice grip as he began to speak. "Honey... I love you. And I know I say it a lot, but that doesn't make it mean any less, not to me. I have never been so grateful to have met someone in my entire life, and I can promise you that saying yes to marrying you was the easiest decision I have ever and will ever make," Rosie sucked in a deep breath, the air coming through shaky. "When I went down, the only thing I cared about was getting back here, 'cause the idea of leaving you behind was torture. Every time I went up in that ship, I could think about you and then I knew I'd make it home. I woulda crawled outta hell for one more second with you, so now I'm not going anywhere."

Frankie was smiling so hard that she almost hadn't realised she was crying until Rosie lifted a hand to her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "Aw shit," She laughed, leaning into his touch. "I should've gone first. Now whatever I say is gonna look rubbish."

He laughed, shaking his head. "D'you need me to leave the room too?" He offered. She guffawed, smacking him playfully across the chest.

"Shut up! Ok, I've got it," Frankie nodded, taking a breath. "I... never used to think about my future - about where I'd go once this was over, and what I'd do, and who I'd do it with. But... since I've met you I think about it all the time. Because whatever I do, I wanna do it with you. I used to think of myself as someone who just had things happen to them, not someone who did things. But I'm not - and when I do things, I want you to be there. I want to live with you, I want to... fuck it, I mean - we could have a baby - I think I could do that," She nodded somewhat frantically along as Rosie resisted the urge to chuckle, beaming at her every word. "But whatever happens, you're gonna be there, so... It's gonna be okay."

The moment she finished talking, Rosie had swooped in, cupping her jaw in both hands as he pressed his lips to hers with such force she almost lost her balance, grinning against his lips as she threw her arms around the back of his neck. The sheer ridiculous informality of it all hadn't ceased to be anything but hilarious to them since the moment the others had left, and they found that the kiss quickly dissolved into laughter, the pair giggling against each other's lips as they swayed slightly to an imaginary rhythm.

A sudden burst of applause caught them by surprise, tearing themselves apart as they turned to face the end of the room, where the double doors were now open, their friends and family huddled in the doorway cheering. Ken and Blakely were whooping noisily, whilst George and Frankie's father clapped along, until she had to rummage in her pockets for a tissue to dry the old man's tears. Frankie had never seen him blubber, but it was certainly a sight to behold. Squirming her way through the small crowd, Jill appeared from somewhere behind Crosby, sprinting across the hall towards the couple, footsteps echoing noisily against the polished floor.

The girl let out a squeal as she barrelled into Frankie's arms, swooping her up off the ground and swinging her around, their laughter blurring into a single sound as she held the child comfortably against her hip, Jill wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Frankie looked back at Rosie once more, and found he was already staring at her. With a smile, she leaned in and kissed him once more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Music bathed the room, blaring out a beat as people filled the floor, stepping and twirling in time as friendly chatter threatened to drown out the tune. Frankie sat sideways in her chair, leaning back against Rosie's chest as his arm drooped over her shoulders, hanging down across her front as she sipped at the beer bottle in her hand. Bailey had spent the evening ensuring no one ever wanted for a drink, making so many trips to and from the bar that she was sure bystanders were beginning to grow concerned, but as long as he kept her topped up she wasn't going to say anything.

"So..." Ken grinned, taking a sip of his own drink. "Sergeant Rosenthal?"

"What makes you think he's not Major Bevan?" Frankie teased, and Rosie gave her shoulder a small pinch as the briefest flicker of panic crossed Ken's expression, as if he'd somehow been caught saying something he shouldn't, relaxing as she let out a snort of amusement.

"Rosie!" Alice's voice echoed from across the hall, waving to him from the edge of the dancefloor where Jill waited impatiently beside her.

"You owe them a dance, Major," Frankie grunted as she pushed herself up and off him, patting him on the thigh. As he moved to stand, he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"If you don't hear from me in the next hour, send a search party," Rosie uttered, making the others laugh as he left to join the girls.

As if on cue, the moment he had left, George swooped in, taking his place as she stole his seat and seized Frankie in a sideways embrace, burrowing her head into the crook of her neck. Accepting this without a word, Frankie wrapped her arms around George's head, partially obscuring her vision as she rested her chin atop her scalp, chest vibrating against her as she chuckled.

"You still love me the most, right?" George joked.

Frankie scoffed. "Oh, obviously," She nodded.

"Even though you're gonna move to America with him like a fucking traitor," George grumbled, pinching at Frankie's side.

She batted her hand away with a chuckle. "Don't say that like you're not coming too - you'll be engaged at the least by the time this is over, I don't think Blakely can hold out much longer."

"... You think?"

"God, he's such a teenager about it - he's always bragging about you when you're not there, it'd be really annoying if it wasn't so sweet."

"Do I need to be here for this?" Ken interjected flatly, staring blankly at the pair as he steadily drained his cup.

"Dude, I don't even remember inviting you to this," Frankie joked as he rolled his eyes. "Get the fuck over here," She grinned.

He stood up somewhat reluctantly, sliding into the seat on her opposite side, and before he could move away she had wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him in against her other shoulder so that Ken and George were both clutched to her sides, laughing to themselves.

"This is pretty good, huh," Frankie nodded, letting out a huff as she looked out across the hall, chuckling as she spotted her father, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with a group of Red Cross girls. "... Y'know, as shotgun weddings go."

George smacked her across the leg, bolting upright, she and Ken sharing identical looks of alarm. "You're not-?"

Frankie snorted, shaking her head. "Nah, I'm taking the piss," She confirmed, and the pair relaxed once more, leaning back against her. "... I did tell him earlier that I thought we could have a baby, though."

"That's way more information than I wanted from you," Ken pointed out, voice muffled against her shoulder.

"D'you think I'd be good at it thought?"

The pair offered up non-committal hums of agreement, hissing as she punched them both in the shoulders. "Jesus!" George yelped. "No, obviously you'd be great, Frank!"

"Thank you," She nodded firmly, suddenly realising that the idea really meant something to her - that the possibility that they didn't think she could do it had hurt. It hadn't been until she'd spoken those slapdash vows - until the words had spewed from her without even thinking - that she'd realised it was even something she might have wanted.

But then she caught Rosie's eye, and he smiled at her from across the hall, holding Alice's hand in one of his and Jill's in the other, the three of them dancing in time to the music. They adored him - truly, utterly adored him - and they had done since the very first time they'd met. If he could do it with them, if he could make those girls love him so much from only a handful of meetings, then how wonderful would he be with his own? Even if the whole thing didn't come naturally to Frankie, she felt safe knowing she had a man like Rosie, a man whom any child could love without having to try, a safety blanket when things got tough.

Maybe it wouldn't have worked with anyone else.

But it would with him.